#a toast to the angst gay boys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marximoff · 2 years

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take me, one more wave | w. maximoff

summary: you start to take your first steps towards healing, but that doesn't mean the path will be easy. luckily for you, Wanda happens to be a great listener.

warnings: heavy make out, smut, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), fingering (r receiving), hair pulling (Wanda receiving), dirty talk, dry humping, maybe a cumfilled strap hint, mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, canon typical violence, heavily detailed panic attack, angst.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 11k

A/N: ok, things are finally getting better in a certain way (and horny, these people are horny), but the question is… how long will it stay like this, eh? kidding, i want the happiness of these two as much as anyone - but it's just so ironic to enjoy writing angst when you have a heart as gay as mine, i know

((wanda and r totally listened to deftones together btw

well, well, well, enjoy!

|series masterlist|

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

Wanda's unwary green eyes glance toward the face of the brown-strap watch, screwed on solemnly by the length of her slender right wrist, in a necessary acknowledgment of the time marked by the small gray hands on its monotone interior—seven forty-two in the morning, still there is plenty of time to have breakfast peacefully and subtly.

And then she hears, in an avid gulp, Tommy drink the entire contents of his glass of warm milk at an astonishing speed, almost as if to quench a naughty thirst in the back of his throat that has lingered for more than days. And then Wanda takes a deep breath. It would be nice if he understood a little more of what peacefully and subtlety really mean.

Then she just blinks slowly because soon after she turns, with a spatula, the face of a homogeneous, round mass of blueberry and oatmeal, which is fried before the extension of a metal frying pan which she holds by the handle with her right hand, the pancake shivering in the air as she does.

Y/N used to be a natural breakfast pancake connoisseur, Wanda remembers well, which is why she suspects her boys have a specific taste for their morning meal too – blueberry pancakes, sugary cereal, toast with butter and orange juice, just as their mother was so fond of too.

Behind Wanda, then, on the counter stretched out to the left side of the sink, a juicy orange sliced in half floats and squeezes against a juicer made of yellow plastic, the spherical fruit with a porous rind shrouded in a thin layer of scarlet mist all around itself (the fruit which is enchanted to press itself against the object), turning and squashing, until all its fresh juice is extracted into a thick glass jar.

Nearby, in a pale plastic bowl, a wooden spoon turns clockwise as it mixes more pancake batter on its own.

At the dark dining table, which is set not that far from the stove where Wanda is standing on its edge, Billy, intently, finishes verifying a question answered the night before in his math notebook, eyes diligently digging into each of the numbers written there on the sheet of paper in airy strokes of pencil lead by his refined grammar, while Tommy, still with his cheeks cluttered with long swigs of warm milk, nibbles a green apple with a slurping hollow sound of “fronc”, even though his absorbed gaze does not fail to capture any movement made by the cartoon character that is highlighted by the television screen placed some distance away from the table, next to the dark linen sofa.

The sweet melic essence from the pancakes intoxicates the interior of the house, like an irrepressible deluge of intense domestic flavors worthy of a family environment, with its den centralized in the kitchen – a room which is being covered by a serene sheet of external solar beams, shy golden streaks, thin as small threads of gold, that enter the room through the long panes placed in their thin windows raised in front of the sink.

The mild climate that hangs over the city during the early afterglow of the morning, despite the sunny day that stretches across the celestial field, is prone to somewhat heavier clothing than the usual spring shots require, but this is something that in no way bothers the excellent brown-haired witch, who, in turn, wears, buttoned to her chest, only a simple silk shirt, and nothing superimposed on this banal piece of clothing.

As for her children, on the other hand, Wanda has that maternal need to wrap them up and keep them healthy and warm, which is why both twin boys wear long, thick fabrics on their small bodies – to shelter from the subtle chill that plagues that phlegmatic morning regurgitated through the so prosaic Westview.

“Boys” she calls over her shoulder in a motherly tone, “Have you packed your bags yet?”

“Yes, mama” is the immediate response from Billy, still sitting at the table.

"I was going to do that right now" and then Tommy gets to his feet, leaving the half-bitten apple on the table, "Be right back"

The boy turns his back and then heads towards the stairs - although his speed is not exceeding that of a normal child, there is still, on Tommy's part, a useful lightness in his actions as he steps fast, one foot right behind the other, down the wooden steps, inferring a warning from Wanda's reprimanding side.

"Tommy, please don't run up the stairs, I already told you that"

But there is no answer to be heard – just the tiny sounds of fast footsteps to be perceived stepping away, towards the upper floor. Wanda blows out a helpless sigh, shaking her head in denial as she mutters silently under her breath.

"I swear, he's just like his mother..."

There is the squawk of a bird outside the house, along with the wheels of a car on the asphalt. Wanda flips the pancake again, and then another one after that, before feeling the tiniest touch of solemnity beside her hip and a pair of expectant little eyes looking at the contour of her jawbone, right next to her ear.

“Mama?” a tiny voice calls out to her, sounding uncertain and vulnerable at her core.

Wanda allows herself to smile with the corner of her pink lips, losing the focus placed on her blueberry pancakes as she turns to the boy.

It is Billy who catches her eye, holding the hem of her silk shirt between the tips of the small fingers of his right hand. He wears a jacket of roomy red, white, and blue stripes to his juvenile torso, and looks down at the floor beneath his sneakers when Wanda tries to make eye contact with those eyes inherited from her ex-wife's family, offering him an affectionate smile, showered with kindness.

“What is it, Billy?”

But there is a hesitation in the speech on the part of the boy, Wanda doesn't take long to verify this fact because she knows him so well, she just knows so much about him. And the little boy seems cornered, somewhat irresolute, in an internal conflict with his own efforts to say whatever it is he has to say (because he presses his lips together and doesn't sustain eye contact with his mother). Wanda just knows, at her heart, that something isn't right.

And then she squats down on her knees, lowering herself to a height where she and Billy would be eye level, and Wanda scans his childish face with her gaze in half a second – his eyes looking back at her, the hesitation in the midst of the darkness, the disinclination which he is no longer able to hide as much as his mother is interested in the cunning childish caution. She takes her lower lip in her mouth and opens and closes her eyes, expelling a gust of warm air through her nostrils.

The hard plastic spatula magically continues to flip and fry the pancakes in the pan, even when Wanda no longer does it directly.

“Baby, what is it? Did something happen?” Moving her fingers closer to her son, Wanda holds him so that she can take the contour of his small face between the palms of both hands.

"You know you can tell me anything, don't you, dear?"

“Can I” Billy limps in an ambiguous vagueness, supported by his mother's gaze, which in turn propels him an encouraging smile, “Can I stay home today, mama?”

Something in Wanda tinkles – but she knows she shouldn't show such sudden estrangement at the boy's request, even though she knows well that it's not like him to be the type who openly takes advantage of any possible loophole to be able to skip class. She just tilts her head to the side of her left shoulder, stroking the skin of her son's cheeks with both thumbs in a circle.

“Why, baby? You like going to school so much... Did something happen there? Did someone say something to you?”

“Uh, no, no one said anything… it's just that” Billy falters a bit in wavering hesitation, brow furrowed, and a flash of fur creased between his dark brows, “They think too loud, mama. And I can hear what they think... what they think of me. They think I'm different. They are afraid of me"

The distraught voice lectured her, a grim veil clouding his innocuous childish gaze, his small, dull face exhaling an air of embarrassment, melancholy weighing down on his thick lepidopteran lashes, both razor-edged eyebrows twisted in a caliginous way.

There's an excruciating moment of silence, supplanted by an aching feeling of Wanda's heart squeezing inside her chest; a troubled gaze spread across her emerald-green eyes.

She knows what it's like, hearing what they think so loud it sounds like screaming inside her head, feeling what they feel to the point of wanting to throw up. The fear. The disgust. And she only came to feel it when she was already a young woman somewhat older than her boy is, better able to deal with this avalanche of judgments that feel like mosquitoes buzzing around her brain.

But Billy is just so young, and so small.

She knows what they think, what they assume—the boys' mothers are gifted with superhuman abilities, and so will they someday. And it’s scary. Perhaps with Billy there is even more stigma; after all, he is a sweet child, quiet and careful, even a little shy – the kind of child Wanda herself once was also.

With a gulf of anguish regurgitating her stomach, the enchantress touches the scrawny left shoulder of the harried boy with the palm of her hand; a faint, complacent smile directed at her son.

“Oh baby, they just don't understand…they don't understand what you are. And sometimes some people are afraid of what they don't understand. I think it's part of human nature to be surprised by the different, and believe me, I know how it is... how difficult it is, to be different. I know"

“Mom told me that everyone is a little different” the boy carries himself in a downcast way, somewhat embarrassed, prompting a frown on the part of Wanda, who promptly gives him a curious look.

“But… but no one seems to like it when I'm different...”

And then, she presses her lips together in a line. There's a pile of forgotten pancakes by the now-off stove.

“I…I understand, Billy. I used to think about myself in a certain way too, but... I know I'm something else. And so are you, honey. But that doesn't mean that you and I aren't ourselves anymore, we just... have something different that makes us a little different from other people”

She sighs.

“Me, you, your mom and Tommy, we… we're different, but that's who we are. And I know this isn't what everyone sees, but... you're still you, Billy. You’re still my sweet, precious little boy. So it's okay to be different, because you'll always have us on your side, honey. We could never leave each other even if we tried. Do you know why?”

She questions, in soft tones of a warm, loving maternal touch.

“Because a family is forever?”

Wanda smiles, caressing the skin of Billy's cheek with the pad of her thumb.

"Yes, baby. A family is forever. You, Tommy, me and your mother will always be a family. Even if it's a family of a bunch of weirdos with superpowers” she adds in a chuckling tone, inferring, on the boy's part, in a warm little smile, “You don't have to be afraid to be different, honey. Stand your ground, be yourself, and the rest of the world can never touch you”

“Even if they are afraid of me?”

“You can't control their fear, Billy” she pats him on the cheek, “Only your own. And you should never be afraid to be who you are”

“Right” Billy smiles, and, as in an infectious spread of his childish alacrity, Wanda ends up doing it too, “I can’t be afraid of who I am”

"That's right, honey"

She then stands up and wraps her forearms around the boy's scrawny shoulders, pulling his small body close to hers, enveloping him in a loving embrace that is gladly accepted when Billy tucks his face into her chest.

Wanda had long ago retained his facial features in memory (the sharp eyebrows, the small nose, the strong cheekbones like hers), but the witch, however, still devoted herself to studying him just to see that the boy was real, and he was there, and he was hers to love and care for; just as she did also with his brother.

She therefore placed a chaste kiss on a beam of skin on his forehead, before arranging for the caresses between the strands of his short, light brown hair. He still gave off a pleasant baby smell.

“I love you, Billy. I love you and Tommy very, very much” she smiles, and so does he, “But now I need to go see why your brother is taking so long to pack his bag, because I don't trust him alone for more than ten minutes and it's been a while since he went up"

And Wanda isn't the least bit surprised to find Tommy finishing his homework five minutes later – even though it's only thirty minutes before school starts this morning.

ᗢ

The tenuous hands of the circular clock on the wall emit ticks, clicks, as they move to mark the time of little more than 2:22 on a particularly gray afternoon, with infinitesimal touches of an insistent spring chill taking care of your keen senses inside one of your many, many jackets - this particular one is made of a dark material, with fleece trimming around the collar.

You took a sip of warm coffee before you arrived, interspersed with a few puffs of smoked cigarettes, and you think about having another cup of the hot drink once this meeting finally comes to a very anticipated ending.

The wall on which the clock is located is far away, painted in bands of a pale yellow and navy blue, but even so, your eyes focus on that thin piece of red plastic turning, getting lost in seconds, marking the emptiness of your gaze in an absorbed hypnosis that turns your brain into a dysfunctional, vacant mass. Concentration dispenses with intrusive thoughts, and you don't want to think about anything right now.

Still, something inside of you wants to get up, march and go to the sign that says, in big white bold letters, “HOW TO GET BACK NOW THAT THEY ARE BACK?” and rip that damn thing off like you rip a band-aid off a well healed wound.

It sounds stupid being there. You feel stupid for being there. What’s the point of being there?

Your heel propels your right knee up and down in a continuous motion of tendons, like the fluttering wings of a stirring bee. Up. Down. Up. Down.

On the thick material of your jacket, close to your right lapel, is an inviting sticker announcing your name written in the glossy lines of a thick, red highlighter, but the ripple of feeling characterized by the features of your face is nothing short of inhospitable and even a little grumpy.

You know you don't want to be there. You want to get up and go out and smoke a cigarette until you choke on the smoke and develop asthma (or something among those lines, whatever, who cares).

Then your leg wobbles. And it wobbles. As if you were trying to soothe one of your children when they were still tiny little babies, rocking them sitting on the kneecap of your knee joint.

But in the closed circumference of aluminum chairs, with broken people all gathered in a circle like a bed of dead flowers, that's not the only tic to point out (since an older man keeps poking his restless fingers, and a short-haired woman just can't seem to get her hand off her neck).

Fucking therapy group, that's what goes through your head when your teased eyes scrutinize around, finding themselves with gazes as bewildered as yours, among the other taciturn and hollow phantoms that mark their place in the thin unfolded chairs.

Everyone here is also a fucked up, one way or another.

Your leg wobbles.

The drinking fountain placed in the corner of the room bubbles a lot, but in view of the fact that you already were there for a considerable amount of lengthy long minutes, which were very painful to expire at the meager speed of a lame turtle (causing, thus, in your resigned relinquishment of counting them inside your own head), frugally seated in an uncomfortable creaky metal chair and utterly saturated, bored to the limit in your imo, this was not the first time the bubbles had sailed with snoring noises of “blob-blob” by the iced water.

You sigh in defeat, shrugging your shoulders into the faux leather of your jacket that is a bigger size than you really are – since there's nothing else you can do about it, you just hope to be able to remain in silence until the end of the meeting. It just seems… pointless, in all your honesty.

It's not as if you have any real interest in the account of that bespectacled man, with thinning hair already giving indications of a coming baldness, who so heartily narrates, with an audible lump pressed down to his throat, of the day that some friend of his (or his boyfriend, you didn't pay close attention and honestly you don't have any disposition to do so) crumbled to dust before his eyes on a casual lunch date on the 7th Avenue.

Or about how that same boyfriend knocked on his door five years later, as if nothing had happened, only to find him married for two years to another man.

Your leg wobbles.

"It's... it's hard, to think that you've moved on, that... that it's okay, that you're okay" his nasal voice echoes through the vault of the school gymnasium.

"Only for it all to come crashing down again when you least wait. When you see someone, or smell an odor, or hear a sound and... and suddenly it's all back, right there in front of you. Like it's happening again and again and again and there’s nothing that you can do about it”

You, however, aim cowardly eyes at your own feet, at your favorite pair of threadbare white Converse sneakers with the baggy laces that Wanda scolded you now and then for failing to tie them properly.

You know all about the creeping flashbacks slinking through the cracks of your damned soul. And the nighttime torments are your most frequent roommates – the shadows of your sleepless nights echoed to your bedroom wall.

You then let out a languid yawn, weary, turning to the wall clock above the Midtown High School bulletin board (the Academic Decathlon Team had won nationals once again in Washington), reality slipping away from you, giving stage to the impertinent boredom watered by the purest monotony, devastating everything that is present in its field of reach.

Click, click, stop. Click, click, stop – makes the clock. Your leg wobbles. And wobbles. But it stops just as abruptly, once someone calls out your name.

You blink just one time.

“Y/N?” it's Dr. Raynor who catches your eye when you look airy and scattered, urging you to tilt your chin toward her.

The middle-aged, upright woman sitting parallel to you with her right knee crossed over her left thigh, exuding a kind of polished erudition that makes her look out of place in the circle of chairs, looking too sophisticated to sit there in the company of wretched souls like those half-a-dozen poor sufferers (you included), aims your way with her dismayed eyes, and there's even a shadow of cynicism in those dark irises like burnt coffee beans that squint toward you.

Something about her tough stance, however, hints at a certain militaristic past, and you kind of turn up your nose at such a notion about the therapist.

It only takes a second of staring into the vacant eyes of that tart-faced woman for you to feel the bitterness of regret take over the tightness in your aching stomach, and a kind of compunction sinks in your shoulders as you wonder why you ever even resorted to Bucky Barnes to get the war veteran to refer you to a suitable therapist in the first place.

Maybe the old bastard did it on purpose. But he's the one who's coping better after all, and not you by any means.

"Why don't you share something with the group, Y/N?" the tapered toe of her shoe points towards your left knee, “It's your first day, so we'd like to know a little more about you”

You feel eyes, a bunch of them, reorienting their route all towards you (focusing, emphasizing, gauging your own figure), and to you it's kind of like a trial where Dr. Raynor is your judge and jailer, just waiting for the moment to come for her to hit with the hammer, and then, be able to sentence you to death by hanging. To pay for your sins.

The fingers of your right hand press along the outline of your left palm. The incisors in your upper jaw chew and harm the soft flesh of your lower lip. Blood, they want your blood. May you pay for your sins.

There, in that linoleum-floored sports gymnasium, there is no caressing of a sincere reception, the good old heart-to-heart typical of suffering misfortunes that find reciprocity in the experience of similar tragedies; in fact it may even be, but it is not possible for you to feel supported and sheltered in the face of the paying victims of your fateful failure.

If they are there, conglomerated by melancholy, engaged by sadness, agonizing in regrets that seem impossible to overcome, it is because your actions have led to this inevitable unfolding of successive events.

Of course, everyone there knows your face from Twitter, from the news, Youtube videos, press conferences, magazine pages and the damn action figures who never quite got the color arrangement of your old black and white suit right (which is now battered and folded, with a hole in the abdomen, stuffed inside a cardboard box gathering dust at the bottom of your wardrobe).

J. Jonah Jameson once said live that you were just an irresponsible little girl who should be stopped and sent away. So, they know. And you know they know. It's your fault, after all.

All yours, solemnly yours, it’s your fault that their loved ones went back to dust, they know, they know that you failed, that you didn't stop it from happening, that you didn't jump into the abyss, that you didn't give your soul.

They know.

You clean the inside of your throat hard, swallowing a sip of still saliva as you do.

“I don't know if there's anything interesting that I can... that I can share, no,” you mutter thinly, noticing a dirt on the heel of your sneaker, “I've never done this before, so I'm not sure where to start, doc”

“How about why you decided to join us today? It's a good way to start, and then you can say more about your personal experience with what happened” a short pause, “If you feel comfortable doing so, of course”

She adds quickly, almost emulating some fortuitous tone of cynical kindness. There is a moment of hesitation, covered by uncertainty and even anguish.

You can lie. Maybe give them, the hungry wolves, a condensed version of the facts and then call it a day.

But there urges a sense of honesty within yourself, of not straying along the easy paths as you have been doing for so many years; not when your motivation to be there, in that chair, in that group, is your deep yearning to be the person to instill a sweet smile on Wanda's kissable lips one more time in her life. Of being a mother to Billy and Tommy again, and no longer an uncertain figure throughout their lives.

You want to give it a try. You need to give it a try. For them (your family), it's always for them.

“My… my ex-wife asked me to come over, honestly” is what comes out of your mouth after a few shots of a long silence, “I think everyone here knows who she is. Who we are... who we were. What were we doing back then”

Your leg swings again, in a spasm of restless muscle.

“I think I'm here because I want to get better for her. For our... for our children. They don't deserve the way I treated them after… after all this shit, no”

You press your lips together in a thin line.

“I know they needed me. That they needed me to be there, but… it was hard. After that everything was just so goddamn difficult. Wanda, the boys... they've been gone for far too long. And I stayed. I just... just got left behind. And it was like that too when my parents died, I know, I should have known how to deal with it by then, but… but my parents didn't die because of me. I wasn't the one driving that fucking truck that hit us at 75 miles per hour. But that day... that day I was there, and I... I…”

You shift uncomfortably against the icy chair and clear your throat to ward off the acidic tears that accumulate in small pools inside your eyes, intercrossing your forearms in front of your chest as you lean your spine against the aluminum backrest.

“Wanda went to therapy after she got back, but I just… stayed there. Still. Stagnant. Not doing a damn thing about all of this stuck in here, in me. Drinking myself to sleep and staying up late. I think I just- I just couldn't get back to normal, you know? Not like other people did. Like there's something wrong with my damn brain programming, I don't know. I could barely hear my children cry without wanting to cry along with them, I… I didn't think I was worthy of touching my wife anymore, I... I don't know. I don't know"

And the one who gets the stage to speak is taciturnity, cold and cutting like the edge of a dagger.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know”

There's so much you want to say.

So much stuff that swells and bubbles to be regurgitated out of you. They are words that are watched over by the martyrdom of your chest, contained in your guts, in your bones, in your bloodstream. Compunction has become part of your genetics at this point, you can even feel it moving through your cells, proliferating through your system like the ramifications of a harmful disease.

You do want to talk. But you just don't speak.

What you actually do is get to your feet, stretching your knees into the comfortable material of your pale baggy jeans, and then turn on your heels toward the half-open double doors of the gym, head down towards the floor, and the shoulders retracted as the psychologist calls out your name.

The only noise that accompanies your movements is the soles of your sneakers against the linoleum floor, making rhythmic squeaking sounds as your gait takes on a running air.

And you walk, one knee after the other, in a dreadful stomping march to the chipped pavement, even as the dimness of a firm grip leaves you blind as it swathes your corneas, and deaf as it envelops your eardrums.

The unavoidable collapse that follows, like the ends of a tasteless piece, is like a bolt of lightning that discharges from the heavens at the top of your head seconds later – electricity running through your nerves, your tendons, your spastic muscles.

It takes approximately seven seconds for hyperventilation to take over.

And you squat down, with both your feet flat on the pavement, when the joints of your legs sag and falter like soft lemon jelly, because the air becomes thick and gritty and so strenuous to swallow into your bronchial tubes, and even as the tissue in your lungs inflates and deflates like shriveled bladders being squeezed by vigorous fists, there is not enough oxygen for the blood in your head to flow, and the nausea and dizziness that wash over you like waves become too much to bear alone.

Maybe that was what it felt like to swallow a bunch of razor blades. Your pharynx constricts until it takes on a shape similar to a crumpled sheet of paper, and dark flashes crisscross your field of vision as your senses derail and fail.

Your skin bristles. You try to suck in the air, to keep it to yourself within the pathways of your sweltering aching lungs, but nothing happens. Your collapsing muscles no longer respond to your will.

Stomach acid rises up your larynx and the taste are disgraceful when it slides across the face of your tongue, an acrimonious sourness that burns between your teeth and seems to want to escape amid your parched lips. You slam your eyelids together as your heart seems to throb, swell and compress in thunderous internal hammers against the bones of your rib cage.

It looks like you're going to have a heart attack and die right there. And it’s dreadful. Petrifying, even. And then you blink once. And then twice.

The smell of scorched earth hangs in the air like a fog based on terror and despair.

There is nothing in all the vast longitudinal footage comprised of tens of miles circuited to your surroundings that is not limited to ruins, or craters, or rubble.

Vibrant whirs of spaceships rip through the slate-gray skies, metal and technology gleaming every time the sun comes out in timid beams from behind the thick clouds of smoke that billow into the sky—and then screams, several of them, and explosions, and the characteristic shiver of shimmering magic comes from the vanguard of Kamar-Taj's resident sorcerers in their quilted brown robes.

There are hundreds of devoted souls going to war against Thanos' army (again).

The undaunted battalion of Wakandan soldiers wade through the ruins and force their way through the row of gruesome alien sentries, brandishing their spears and shields where their strength is most concentrated, honoring their king in a dialect you've never heard before.

From their shoulders hung cloaks and fur, embroidered with droplets of blood and sludge of freshly splatted clay. Long streaks of yellowish-orange blistering magic pour from the battlefield.

I don't want to be here, you think as your vision clears the image of a colossal Ant-Man in the distance, as the deifies esoteric figure of a goliath, delivering a stunning punch to a winged creature wearing plates of extraterrestrial mineral armor, your own suit feeling suddenly too tight around the neck contour for you to breath appropriately.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here.

Archers, spearmen, mages, heroes, mounted swordsmen and a hundred more warriors to command them. The palms of your hands squeezing your own temples, crushing your skull thorough your hairline, quelling skin between your bent fingers.

I don't want to be here. Thanos killed my kids and my wife and my friends and he's here and it’s my fault that he’s here and I'm going to fail again and I'm going to die and everyone’s going to die and it’s my fault, it is all my fault.

You don't remember that it was Wanda who found you, crouching and deplorable like a wounded animal, tearing up wails of treacherous anxiety in the middle of the battleground; your face was smeared with dirt, dust, tears and blood. She didn't say, but she could hear the turmoil of your fretful thoughts from afar, all the way across the combat zone.

“Y/N! Baby!” the voice sounded so buoyant, covering the roars of the war raging round about you.

You don't remember seeing her again, all beautiful and sweaty, after five years apart from her. You don’t recall that when Wanda cried out your name, you could barely trust your ears as you lifted your head and saw her there, your gorgeous wife standing before you again.

And then you sobbed harder, and the first thing you uttered towards Wanda (after approximately 1825 days - 43.800 hours - without seeing her) was a chorus of wails, a compilation of cries, thick tears running down the contour of your scrunched nose as she involved your quivering, dirt-spattered body against herself.

She kissed the top of your head and a beam of perspiring skin of your forehead over and over again, cuddling you close to her necessitous tight embrace, because before she turned to dust, she also thought you were going to die in her arms. Her long disheveled red hair was like a curtain that captured you inside it, a barrier between the two of you and the rest of the war that raged there, around you.

“You’re alive Y/N, ty zhiv, moya lyubovʹ” she muttered against your murky hairlocks, more to herself than to you to hear, “You’re alive, baby, you’re alive, you’re alive”

“S-sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry Wanda, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Wanda, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I’m so sorry"

But this you remember, nonetheless. Of disgrace and shame. Of exhilaration and desolation.

From breaking down and wailing, crying out her name, bursting into tears, squeezing the material of the long, tattered, crimson coat that roofed your wife's warm body through your eager fingers. Of squeezing her so hard, your knuckles turning white, as if again she would go up in a cloud of dust through your firm grip if you let her go one more time.

As if you could still lose her, even when she was there, as close to you as she was. As if your grasp was the only thing holding her back to material reality.

You had so much to say to her. So much to tell, so much to ask. But after five years, your initial reaction was to grab her sturdy forearms and ask for forgiveness like a drooling, out-of-control child. Like someone with a widowed heart. Like a second chance.

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Wanda, I’m so sorry!"

And she held you close because she cried too. Because for a moment she was sure that she had lost you. That you had bled to death on the ground, your eyes empty and icy, blood seeping from your broken lips, and she wasn't there to hold you when the life had completely drained from your wounded body.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay, you’re here, you’re safe, I’m here with you dorogoya”

It certainly wasn't the first time you've shed guilty tears on Wanda's behalf, though. And, of course, that wouldn't be the last time either.

ᗢ

Although, at the beginning of the week, a wave of scarce chill had hit the northeast region of the country, it was enough for when Friday arrived, right after the end of the week, for the sinuosities of the heat to return to the spring calendar, and a sweltering climate face again.

Over the pleasant little town of Westview, then, hangs the celestial vault, dazzled by dusk, from which all twinkle, like vivid space fireflies, the antecedent stars of a new tomorrow which contingently would come to lean over the serene little town, situated to the Mid-Atlantic region of US New Jersey.

The warm climate of seven o'clock at night prompts Wanda, in her residence, to dress her body only in a light burgundy silk shirt, and nothing superimposed on this simple piece of clothing.

She had just had dinner (both Y/N and their twin sons claimed there was something peculiar about her macaroni and cheese), and so she was ready to do the dishes - living in a house with just her and two others little boys, there's not even an ample amount of cutlery and plates in her possession to enjoy over a meal restricted to three people.

The bell rings in sudden chimes into the house, however, and Wanda, halfway through sliding the bristles of a foamy brush in a clockwise direction across the face of a china plate, somewhat guided by curiosity to discover whoever was knocking at her door on a full Friday night, tries to quickly dry both hands on a dish towel after closing the sink's faucet, in order to head with cautious strides towards the main entrance.

Her two twin sons, both snuggled up on the linen sofa and with their respective backpacks looking like guard dogs at their post tucked close to their heels, glare at their mother with their smart gazes overwhelmed in interest as Wanda crosses the living room toward the front door.

“Who is it, mama?” Billy asks, looking at her over his small, withered shoulder, his voice echoing over the sound of a random cartoon.

“No idea” is the return that comes from Wanda, who slides both of her damp palms down the sides of her hip dressed in a pair of dark leggings.

Opening the door causes the boisterous night breeze to kiss the high, sharp cheekbones of her pretty cheeks— however, it’s the figure of a woman clad in a shabby leather jacket and baggy jeans, Y/N herself standing in her front porch, what really takes Wanda by surprise.

The mindful pair of clever eyes look at the deep emerald-green shade of her own irises in firsthand, gleaming in a ruddiness that glows expectantly, but then they scan the entire length of her body until, finally, they reach her hip height.

And then, they've doubled in size, and Wanda realizes that it's been a considerable amount of time since her ex-wife has seen her dressed in such tight clothing.

“Y/N...?” she raises a single eyebrow at the other woman who is there in her doorway, her hands tucked into both pockets of the jacket that adorns her body.

It's certainly not a face Wanda expected to see there that night (although, in her core, she knows it's a more than welcome sight, because she can actually feel her heart skipping a lot, abruptly fueled with energy as she does so, and her mouth kind of salivates a little bit).

“Uh, h-hey, hey Wanda” Y/N breaths then, looking lost in her own words. This time she doesn't smell like smoked cigarettes.

There isn’t, for Wanda, a way to not to feel her gaze scorching her considerably toned thighs, which, despite being covered by the dark elastane fabric, suddenly feel so exposed, as if what she was wearing there were just one of the miniskirts she loved so much when she younger.

There's a brief moment showered with tentative silence, at which Wanda can well hear Y/N gulp and shrug. She, in turn, crosses both arms along her rib cage, just below her breasts buttoned by her red shirt, and leans on her side against the doorjamb.

There is a failed attempt not to bring back to her memory the fact that a couple days ago, Y/N had her face sheltered between those same thighs that she stares at so carefully.

“So,” Wanda chirps after a hushed pause, distant cricket sonatas adorning her speech, “Can I… can I ask what you're doing here? I mean, I don't want to sound rude, but... you know...”

She shrugs a little awkwardly.

“Oh yeah, sure” and Y/N emits a husky sound, as if clearing her throat, “Well, you told me to pick up the boys for the weekend on Friday, and… today is Friday"

Wanda opens her mouth to speak, but then connects her lips again in a fine line. Y/N seems to have stated the obvious, but she still stares at her ex-wife as if waiting for her reaction.

“Y/N” she begins, pronouncing the name in a slow-sounding voice, “I told you to pick up the boys next Friday, not this. Today they are going to sleepover at a friend's house. You know, Dottie, from school”

Y/N blinks once, and then one more time in realization of the facts. And then, she raises both of her eyebrows in a half-funny awe.

“I- wait, really?!”

“Well, yes” Wanda nods her head in confirmation, even as she cages a spark of laughter in the back of her throat, “Actually, I was about to leave to drop them there”

“I, I- well shit, I was actually going to order hamburgers this time…”

And that's when Wanda can't help but chuckle softly, feeling her shoulders light up against the silk of her shirt as they sway subtly.

“You can tag along with us” Wanda proposes in a friendly and courteous tone of voice that portrays a smile, despite not having expressed it to her lips as she said, “If you want to, of course”

She adds quickly, almost like a thin squeak of a hesitant little mouse, eyeing her ex-wife in an expectant air – the fingers of her right hand hook uneasily through the fingers of her left hand as she does so.

And she doesn't know exactly why she'd offered it to Y/N, but something adorned by a rash itch inside her sort of wanted her to accept the proposal, like a fish accepting the bait of a hook. Wanda wants to hook her. She wants to hook her and keep her for herself.

And something even more urgent thumped in a throbbing gasp within her guts when it was that Y/N willingly nodded, nodding and a complacent half-smile broken at the corner of her lips, her hands still clasped inside her jacket pockets, sort of emulating a jock pose.

And something builds up inside Wanda for a third time, when the family of four finds themselves snugly secured by the seat belts of her car (a Buick Verano dyed in a can-of-tomato-sauce-red color that, in a way, goes well with her), the twins in the back and Y/N in the passenger seat, all neatly arranged in a homely and domestic way, performing with mastery the role of a well-structured family.

When, from the backseat, Tommy asked Wanda for a song and she promptly took her relaxed right index finger to press the digit on the little button that turns on the radio, only for the rustling sound that would encompass the interior of the vehicle to be the melody of an old alt rock song (a bit corny one), Y/N couldn't help but utter a hearty, nostalgic laugh as both boys grunted in tandem with the song's lyrics, and just as fast as she had done so before, Wanda quickly turned off the radio, feeling a flushed warmth heat her cheekbones and the tips of her ears.

She doesn't want to look the other way, at her ex-wife sitting close to the elbow on her right side. Wanda just wants to disappear in mortification.

She and Y/N used to have that same music as a soothing background for their late-night conversations in the compound, when the two of them, a couple of young girlfriends who could never get tired of each other, were just two bodies hugging and sweating against the rumpled sheets of her bed, the whole room smelling of sex and the red color – Deftones was definitely a band to listen to on pillowtalk… or at the heights of the passionate moans that would come after such pillowtalk.

“Ew, mama, what is this?” Tommy twists a beam of skin from his freckled little nose, and in the rearview mirror, Wanda sees Billy do the same in an expression of pure disgust.

“Wait, wait, wait, did your mama ever tell you guys about her goth phase?!” Y/N turns her chin over her left shoulder, flashing a smile cut in taunt mockery at which her voice sounds like a jocular laugh.

Wanda, on the other hand, grunts in embarrassment, squeezing the steering wheel material between her fingers. Maybe the boys wouldn't mind if she threw their mother through the windshield, after all.

ᗢ

The path back to the house had been solemn and, at Wanda's sheer request, you joined her in a romantic tasting of tea in the living room, having barely given up after the scorching mid-night that spills over Westview.

You didn't expect her to actually ask you to stay after you dropped the boys off at their friend's house (the little girl's mother, Sarah, certainly put an ulterior motive between you and Wanda, and your ex-wife swore her mouth to call her a bitch when it was just the two of you back inside her car), and you suspect she didn't expect you to accept the invitation either, because a veil of genuine astonishment fell over Wanda when you nodded with your head and smiled towards her.

(The initial invitation was for a glass of wine, but you said you were trying to avoid alcohol and Wanda apologized, and then the wine turned into tea which became a lame excuse for you to stay until after ten o'clock of the night)

The television which flickers, on its monochrome screen, a French film in black and white, is the only thing that fills the room with any kind of light or sound, as the two women, both seated well on the cushions of the dark sofa, say nothing more to each other (although a sudden abundance of coziness has surfaced in Wanda's exhilarating core, she who has her head bent dangerously close to her ex-wife's vigorous shoulder – her silky hair emanating a sweetened scent of strawberry shampoo).

You, however, roll on your axis in search of a comfortable position, and your elbow brushes lightly against Wanda's under the silk shirt, causing the two of you to look at each other curiously – two dark glances in the middle of the lighted room, only lit by the artificial lighting of a meaningless old romcom.

Wanda craves the comforting body heat radiating from you when as close to her as you are.

As much as you wanted to touch her, however, and felt your fingers tingling to do so; you, however, held the notion of the fact that between the two of you lay an invisible dividing veil, which neither of you would dare to cross a second time in such a short period of time.

And with that thought also tucked into her mind, Wanda chose to scoop more of her tea, enjoying the boiled hibiscus acrimony flavor that slides down the face of her tongue, between her teeth and the flesh of her cheeks. But she feels a gaze scrutinizing her from her jawline and cheekbones.

And you stare at her in ethereal devotion, simulating her gesture as she sips from the tea poured into her pretty china cup.

“So,” she calls, albeit from behind her teacup, “How's therapy going?”

You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue.

"Well, I've only been in one meeting so far... and I couldn't make it to the end" shrugging, you just know there's no need to withhold the facts, "I know I need to, and I swear that I will, but... it's hard to bring it all back. It's exhausting, exhausting as fuck. Honestly, I just want to lie down and not get up”

“I know,” she says, in a tiny, meaningful voice, “Yeah, I know how it feels”

And the air is kind of bitter, but you know toughness is needed. You know about the fact that you made mistakes with the woman sitting next to your right elbow, after all (grotesque and disproportionate mistakes), and from that you always understood very well.

But withholding awareness of your errands to those you've hurt and trying to repair what's been broken, that's kind of a fresh start that Wanda wants to see in you.

“But I'm trying, you see. For the boys, for... for you... I'm trying, Wanda. I'm trying to be better for you. Trying to take responsibility for my mistakes”

Something sparks inside Wanda, in hibiscus-tasting greed. And she looks at your face – and you just want to feel her close, all to yourself, comfortable in your needy grip. It scorched in will and greed sharpened through your veins. But all she does is just look for another sip of tea.

“I'm happy for you, Y/N. I really am. I know that it's easier to live in denial, that it feels more comfortable to stay in a melancholy state of mind, that... that acknowledging that you need help is difficult. I know it's hard, trust me" she half laughs, "I think I know better than most what self-deception looks like. And I know that someone can't live like that"

And then she looks at you, and you look at her.

“But you deserve to allow yourself to heal, Y/N. Not for me or the boys, but mostly for you. You deserve more, much more than that. You deserve to heal” and then, a vague hesitation, “Because it's when you heal that I'll forgive you”

And the silence is tiny, but it lasts for a considerable amount of needy seconds. Someone laughs greedily in the movie on television, a plastered, off-air laugh, but you didn't pay any attention to the joke – not when Wanda is next to you, when you want that woman so much that your veins throb inside your skin just for you to take her for yourself.

And when she stands up, the linen on the sofa moving next to her body to do so, your gaze follows her closely, attentive, watching her make her way to the kitchen, whereupon Wanda heads towards a new round of hibiscus tea.

Her dark hair looks silkier than usual, and you want to run your fingers through the locks just to feel, between your avid digits, the softness that oozes from Wanda's head. To make sure that touching them one more time would be like reeling in a dark puddle from the source of your greatest victory, your greatest pleasure in life.

Then you get to your feet, stretching your knees out into your baggy old light blue jeans.

And as if a red leash is constricted around the outline of your neck and Wanda is the one holding the rein, pulling and squeezing until the blood rushes to your head, towing you around like her pet, you are magnetized towards the throbbing figure of your ex-wife – as if you might choke and suffocate if you didn't breathe from the scarlet oxygen molecules that evaporate so subtly through the pores of her skin.

You need her to fill your lungs, to quench your thirst, to teach you to breathe again.

And your fingers throb in anticipation as she turns and looks at you, standing there, in the middle of her kitchen, in the middle of the night; both of her irises drenched in a sharp shade of moss-green, her pupils dilated like two abyssal puddles you want to sink into, as if you're on the edge and need just one last incentive to give yourself away once and for all; her chest heaving weighty like an animal in confrontation mode.

And it doesn't surprise you, in fact, when the proficient witch stomps toward you and takes your face between her warm palms, grabbing the bones of your jaw to pull you into a needy kiss.

When your lips clash your obsession explodes inside your chest, as if your mind bends to Wanda's will; she who invades your senses with a deluge of scarlet liquid and usurps your essence, your soul, your heart.

You know you are as devoted to this woman as a believer is devoted to their god. That she is purely your religion and your belief, that her body is the reason for your idolatry.

Gradually, you obtained urgency to overcome the slowness, and rudeness took precedence over the elegance imbued in the act. The kiss is transmuted into something visceral and animalistic, primordial, just bodies lacking the warmth of flesh or the robustness of touch; a throbbing knot at the mouth of both of you bellies just waiting to be undone.

As if in a rehearsed ceremony, you run your hands over Wanda's thighs and evenly spaced knees, and she, in return, links the folds of her elbows to the outline of your neck, placing herself on your lap, belly to belly. Soon, a sly pink tongue slips back into her mouth in search of what is hers, expert and needy.

And then, a strong, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the curve of Wanda's round ass over dark leggings, which elicits an ambrosial groan from her as you sit her on the kitchen table, rising from her heels, standing through her open legs.

And you dive towards her mouth again, being welcomed like a welcome hug.

You feel a warm forehead press to your pale skin band above your eyebrows. And you and Wanda open your eyelids at the same time – pupils dilated and not at all confused. You feel like two animals mating, studying, seeing who will devour the other first.

Dark strands like charcoal strumming against the material of your jacket that feels just so hot against your smoldering body.

Shedding with the tips of her cut nails along the line of your neck, Wanda, then morosely, slides her spandex-covered thighs across the accentuated bones of your hips, placing herself tucked beneath your navel—your legs bent, her heels rubbing against the jeans you wear.

Her gaze sharp and shadowed with impetuosity as you feel the familiar flicker of a crimson nebula caressing her mound of Venus, and Wanda's half-open mouth (parted lips gasping) projects a sly little grin at which she zippers your pants drop slowly, circled by a thread of intangible red.

In the green of her irises a haze of scarlet mist is traced and, like fire in a straw, it only takes a second for there to be no more trace of emerald in her eyes; red drowns green within its wall of vivid fire, red intoxicates you, red touches you where you urge to be touched.

“Wanda”

You mumble breathlessly, your breath hot against the pulp of her lips, her hand tucked inside your pants, fingers caressing you, your hips rocking in a friction against the tense lap below you.

“Wanda, Wanda please..."

“It’s okay, baby” the speech overflows in ecstasy, pure and high.

Expectantly, Wanda threads the sides of your hips with the insides of her thighs, searching for something only you can give her, her forehead pressed to yours.

“It’s okay, baby, you deserve this”

There's a hot touch on your clit and then you whimper in labored need, a whoosh of hot breath hitting your ex-wife's lower lip, a friction of your restrained hip rubbing against her nervous pelvis, looking out for each other.

Wanda's greedy nose drifts toward the curve of your neck, below your ear, and there she sucks between her lips a shaft of skin she could bite and nibble on.

The massage is continuous against your pleasure core, and the return comes in the form of suction, and then the flick of the cheek of Wanda's tongue against your stinging skin. On your part, a hollow groan implodes.

"F-fuck, fuck me, Wanda..."

“Shit, baby, you're so wet” she chokes against your mouth, “So tight Y/N…”

Wanda's cunning fingertips settle to your needy clit and then decline at your entrance in an idolatry-soaked endeavor, a continual action that brings out the nastiest, baser, animalistic side of you, who doesn't give a damn about the trouble of suppressing the yelps in your throat.

It's so raw, hot and visceral, so human, that you even seem to be able to cry while Wanda fucks you fervently on that table. There's something in you that needs her – you need her to untie the knot, to touch you in that place only she can touch.

Your clever hands run along the contours of Wanda's body through the fine silk of her thin shirt, which you don't take long to break the fastenings, buttons exploding like projectiles in all directions, so you can clear a path and then cover the pale skin of her neck with your own lips, brushing a lot of lethargic kisses and licks over her sensitive epidermis.

And then another finger appears. And followed by this, another one. Slipping, exploring and filling your embers inside. Stretching it, enlarging it and softening it.

You want to explode in red (so little is missing). Before you can squeal (the frayed lungs sparking to do so), another hand wraps itself around your neck, a stinging palm choking the yelp back into your throat. Your brow furrows and your eyes narrow as your inner walls press Wanda's fingers inside your cunt.

“You're close, aren't you? Huh?” The fingers curled inside you, coercing a ragged response from you. You nod fervently in affirmation.

“Y-yes, God, Wanda, please-!”

Her eyes flicker a maniacal crimson as she looks into your eyes, into your soul. And then she kisses you hard.

“Come, love” is ordered, in a mixture of moans and saliva on the pulp of her lips, “Come on my fingers, Y/N”

Like a spell, you do as she says.

As if your lover's oratory alone was enough to untie the knot of your lonely ecstasy, plaited all below your navel. Dark irises in smoldering glee dipped to the waterlines of your eyes, and a red haze, in delight, swamped your insides, pouring from your pulsing center the sweetest honey through Wanda's fist, imprisoned inside your lowered jeans.

So she kisses you where she can, as she can – in a thread at the tip of your brow, in the crimson cheekbone of your Apollonian cheek, in the corner of your sweet lips, in the curve of your tasteless chin. Your head drops to Wanda's shoulder, still drunk from the high of your climax. You can barely tell when the enchantress withdrew from your, only to bring her fingers to her lips, and taste your ether, your cum, with a shocked whisper in acknowledgment.

It took seconds for you to recover from the jolt of the powerful orgasm that washed over your pulsing core.

“You still taste the same” Wanda kisses a swath of sweaty skin above your brow, “So hot”

And then you stick your greedy nose into the curve of her pale, inviting neck, between a few strands of dark hair artificially smelling of strawberries, inhaling there the hallucinatory scent of Wanda's vegetable soap.

“Fuck, I love your smell. I fucking love your smell, Wanda”

And then, a new pressure blooms between your legs.

And it doesn't surprise you to see that there, by magic, a red phallus of considerable thickness and just the right length for Wanda to take was deposited around your pulsating clit. You know what she wants, and you feel ready to give it to her. You look at her as, without a word, you move your hips toward her, touching the tip of the silicone cock to Wanda the way you know she likes it, and you sip from the soft moan that bursts out of her.

“I want to feel you” she breathes, looking profoundly into your eyes as she does, “I want to feel your cock deep inside my pussy. I want you to tear me apart, Y/N”

Something inside you snaps. You then share a throbbing mouth moan, closed eyelids that keep dark and empty pupils, brows crumpled between the foreheads.

And then your hips begin its avid, pleasurable work, up and down, stimulating the nerve point deep within your ex-wife's thighs. Wanda is just a sweaty mess flanked by moans and rambling words; and pleasure, in its sweetest, purest, most genuine form, gnaws at your insides and demands more of you than you could ever imagine - a constriction in her womb that only you can touch.

Your ex-wife kisses you on the corner of your mouth, a flash of skin on your chin, the bone at the tip of your jaw - a lacked ecstasy compels you to collide with the pulps of her lips out of necessity, even if it is without the presence of tongues and an act much more carnal and rudimentary than it needs to be, so that the friction against her nervous lap never stops.

Her bundle of nerves is massaged, and as a result, Wanda squirms in between your legs.

“If you don't take those fucking pants off right now” you gasp against her ear, “I'm going to rip them off you”

“Y-yes” she pleads hoarsely. A haze of red is all it takes for the material of the pants to come undone, giving you access to Wanda's throbbing center.

"If you only knew... If you only knew how much I want to fuck you..."

You snake the smoldering tips of your fingers over the ruffled skin of the cool body below you, feeling the other woman's heavy breathing, drifting through the gap between her lovely breasts to her eager belly, leaving a hot trail of anticipation in its wake.

“How much I miss fucking you, and having to stifle your moans with my hand so you don't wake the boys... turn around, Wanda. Ass up”

And she does so without hesitation, her legs trembling in anticipation as her fingers pinch the edges of the table, and on the part of the experienced witch cringes a yelp as you squeeze between your palms both the pulps of her ass, massaging the soft skin, and carefully guides the toy to the entrance of the rosy, sensitive pussy, drawing from both parties a deep satisfying grunt as your fake cock comes into contact with the dark-haired woman's melancholic wetness in a burning, necessary and deliciously satisfying heat.

Still without penetrating her, however, prolonging your lover's preliminary pleasure as much as possible, you guide the length of the phallus to Wanda's swollen clit, masturbating her with the tip of your cock - and as you do, you take your skittish teeth to the curve of her pale neck with a faint scent of red, strawberry and sweat, where you began to pamper her bare skin with kisses and meticulous licks.

“Y/N please” she whimpers, quivering her ass in search of needy contact, “Please fuck me, please, ah-!”

Grinning hungrily against the bristly skin of her ivory neck, your teeth scraping the battered, reddened skin, you shove yourself against Wanda's wet, burning insides, which immediately spread a comforting sensation in her belly, complaining a small, barely audible “Fuck” out of her nose as you sink deeper and deeper into this delicious grip of delirious pleasure.

Wanda moans during penetration, throwing her head back dramatically, giving access to her throat for you, who cover it with kisses that leave her pale skin feeling feverishly warm. When you go all the way in, there's a needy squeal, and the television goes off-air—smell of sex and the color red oozing from her cunt.

“You're still so tight, damn it, Wanda,” your fingers tug at her scalp as, unceremoniously, you start a frantic rhythm against her ass, “I really missed your pussy squeezing me”

“Ah-ah-Y/N!” it was a squeaky grunt, her forehead against the wood of the table, “Glubže, malyshka, bystreye- faster- ah! Ah!”

The table rocks as you hit her cervix. The sound is of furniture creaking, and something in you roars. You love it. You love turning Wanda into a sweaty mess, filling her inside inch by inch, claiming her as your own, making her feel full of life.

As she leans on her elbows across the table and lifts her chest with heavy breaths, her hair being pulled toward you as she moans into her wet, nibbled lips, the brown locks covering her face like a dark veil, her breasts swaying at the same rate as the table legs scrape the floor and you sink deeper and deeper into it, she moans in pleasure like a needy beast.

“I bet you missed that too, huh?” you gasp, still keeping the steady rhythm of your strong hips against Wanda's, all the way inside her walls, “Someone to fuck you the way I know you like”

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes...!"

She takes her right hand back and grabs your forearm that holds her waist.

When she looks at you over her shoulder, you groan; at the sight of her drawn cheek rubbing against the wood of the table, the hollow of skin against skin echoing off the kitchen walls for a good few minutes now, you swaying your hips against Wanda's, taking distance as you move in and out of the warm embrace around her wet cunt, thrusting with the true intention of destroying her from within, taking her to heaven and hell if need to be done.

You bite your bottom lip, feeling your skein of orgasm begin to be woven in the pit of your belly.

“Wanda, fuck,” you curse into her name, sticking your nose into the crook of her pale neck with a faint scent of sweat, your hips fast, sloppy, in an unstoppable beat against her skin, “Wanda, Wanda, fuck, Wanda!”

“Faster, baby! Don't- don't stop- don’t stop- ah!” you do as she says, again.

You alternate between slow and fast, deep, precise movements, causing your ex-wife's eyes contorted beneath you to roll in their sockets, her chest being unconsciously thrust forward, brushing her nipples against the silk of her open shirt on the wood under her moving torso.

Her body suddenly stiffens, and her neatly trimmed nails dig into the edges of the table; around the crimson material of your cock, a hot, viscous membrane leach up the erect length. And you feel the same trickle down between your thighs, as a yelp erupts from your ex-wife and a scarlet fever haze slams every window in the house in a harmony of hollow beats that build on Wanda's scream.

With the enchantress panting and limp as a jelly, that was the confirmation that, in a cloud of pleasure, the woman reached her apex, melting into the erotic red haze that clouded her dark eyes. You, panting, get the toy out of her insides; the shiny liquid glistens around your cock, and Wanda squeals even feeling the sudden lack of you inside her.

The living room window is cracked. The table can disassemble at any second. Wanda's neck looks like a galaxy of bruises, and her waist and buttocks are groped with red handprints that aren't going away anytime soon. The crotch of your jeans is stained with your pleasure and hers. And then she looks over her shoulder at you, the two of you still panting like two ecstatic animals.

She looks deliciously worn and messy, and you feel a new sting dulling below your belly button as you realize just how much natural juices trickle out of Wanda's abused pussy.

“So,” you gasp, brushing a strand of damp hair out of your face, “This…this is starting to become a thing, huh…?”

"Y-yeah..."

Your cum leaks out of her and drips onto the floor between your feet.

《《《《《《《ᱬ》》》》》》》

taglist: @diaryoflife, @iliketozoneout, @raqelacevedo, @wizardofstories, @wlwfanfictionss, @wandsmxmff, @whhyyynotttttt, @sayah13, @when-wolves-howl

i wrote porn lol

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icemankazanksy · 2 years

Text

icemav headcanon pt.2

Pt. 2 of "Mav is a blusher and Iceman likes it... a lot."

*Slight angst because I got carried away

Recap (Pt.1):

"I'm not gay Slider."

"I know, I know, I just want you to be safe, I'm your RIO after all."

---

The next few weeks of training were busier than ever. Graduation was approaching, only four weeks away, and days were spent in debriefs, reading textbooks, and lots of practice. Despite all this, Ice's obsession with his rival's blooming red blush didn't seem to wane. It was as if someone had glued his gaze on Pete "Maverick" Mitchell's face. His cheekbones and jaw were that of a Greek statue, chiseled marble. It was something anyone, any man could admire. This is what Ice told himself, pushing down the questioning of its validity.

He couldn't understand why. Why he teased and got close and said words laced with honeydew sweetness. Why he wanted needed to see that blush spread across Pete Mitchell's pretty little face. Not that the other pilot knew about it, Ice could only hope.

It continued, they danced on the lines like it was something in a contemporary ballet performance. Oh isn't this all just a little fun?, Ice thought as he succeeded once again.

---

The following morning, their final, and most important, External Standard Evaluation was announced to be two weeks away. The pressure of keeping top of his class was building. "We got this in the bag, don't you worry Ice," Slider murmured after they were dismissed.

"I know." he kept his gaze cool, sweeping over his classmates. He ignored Maverick's stare and joined Slider on his way to their next lecture.

---

Ice knew he had tumbled overboard when "sweetheart" slipped from his mouth and right into the ears of Maverick, their classmates, and Viper himself. Too far Ice, way too fucking far, he told himself. Later in the shower rooms, it wasn't as pretty and forgiving as he had planned in his head.

"Jesus Christ! What is your goddamn problem Ice?" Maverick was half in his civvies, "I've been tolerant with whatever teasing bullshit you've been starting, but God it is getting on my nerves."

"This is gonna be good boys," Chipper whispered, earning him a kick from Sundown. The pilots shuffled out the door, eyes glued to the middle of the room where their two classmates stood.

"I don't know what you mean Maverick."

"You know goddamn well, Ice, I know you do you sick bastard," Ice only grinned, a sick, bastard-like grin and Mav continued, "you've embarrassed me in front of Viper and probably half the cadre. And I've been thinking what did I do?, what could've happened, I know I'm kind of a ditz, but-," Ice clamped his hand over Maverick's mouth before he could continue. He looked around to make sure the others had gone before, in the most gentle, sincere tone he could possibly muster, "Look, I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me, but it won't happen again." His gaze was firm. Maverick stared up at him, eyes a little wide. Ice could feel the warmth of Mav's face on his hand, his lips were soft. He couldn't do this anymore, all of it, all this thinking about Maverick; it had to stop. He removed his hand from the other's face and walked out of the shower room.

---

Ice spent the next few nights restless. He twisted and turned in his sheets, rumpling them. It should have bothered him, it really should have. I don't care, he thought. He ironed them in the morning anyways.

He poured over his textbooks during breakfast, toast and eggs as always. He kept his shades down on the tarmac and his eyes to himself in the shower room. He didn't dare make eye contact with Pete "Maverick" Mitchell. The examination date was approaching at super-sonic speeds, he needed that stupid little trophy.

Two nights before the examination, Ice wondered if he was overreacting to all this. No, bullshit, he reassured himself. Screw DADT and all that crap, he had embarrassed Maverick. It was something the latter clearly didn't take lightly. In fact, no one would, it was humiliating. Ice had never wanted much, but when he made Maverick blush and bloom, it sent him into a downwards spiral. From there on out it was want, want, want. There was nothing easy about getting Maverick out of his head, and Ice could only accept that fact.

---

Notes: Sorry for the long break! I finally got this to a point where I am sort of proud of it and I'm trying not to re-read it bc I know I will start to hate it (per usual). I have a feeling I should write a Part 3 because I kind of left everyone hanging, but god knows when that will happen. I attempted at slight angst, not sure if it was executed correctly, I am more of a poet anyways... but let me know what you think! See you next month for Pt.3 lol

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ao3feed-tf2ships · 10 months

Text

The RED the BLU and the confusion in between.

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/49174135 by the_false_thomahh essentially, they r gay af, miss pauling is a confused lesbian. zhanna doesnt understand that women can kiss women. or men can kiss men. and the administrator is a homophobic Dick knuckle. Words: 802, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, F/F, Gen

Characters: Thomas Bangalter, Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, Soldier (Team Fortress 2), Engineer (Team Fortress 2), Pyro (Team Fortress 2), Spy (Team Fortress 2), Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Zhanna (Team Fortress 2), Miss Pauling (Team Fortress 2)

Relationships: BLU Soldier/RED Engineer (Team Fortress 2), Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2), BLU Spy/RED Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Engineer/Soldier (Team Fortress 2), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Engineer/Pyro (Team Fortress 2), Miss Pauling/Zhanna (Team Fortress 2)

Additional Tags: my boys are confused help them pls, zhanna is hot af, soldier is a loveable dumbass, engie is unable to catch a hint, the spy is a bi king and i love him, the sniper says he aint gay, but then he goes to make out w the spy, hes in denial, sniper's dad is deaf he uses auslan not ASL ppl, he is Australian after all, I Should Know, im one too, the pyro is a....is something alright, dad!engie, platonic texan toast, engie is just a dad, and i may say, a dilf, Slow Dancing, ticktock joji [if u know u know], we hate the red spy here/j, hes a dick to his BLU counterpart, also, the BLU sniper uses the huntsman, and the BLU spy is scared of spiders, this is important i swear, bonding moment, ikr, this is actually angst i swear, im just a tumblr user as well, ALL OF THE FUCKING TAGS RARHHHH, maybe smut?, who fuckin knows, Forced Bonding, daft punk moment in it somewhere, they r robots, Leave them be, They/Them Pronouns for Pyro (Team Fortress 2), also wtf is tenta-spy?, Angst with a Happy Ending, S E A L S I N T F 2, saying something stupid like i love you, i love frank Sinatra leave me be, fuck daft slash, RED spy being a asshole, kinda dead dove: do not eat?, Sexual Assault, good lord look at the amount of tags i should stop, no beta we die like scout

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/49174135

#TF2 Engineer #TF2 Soldier #EngineerSoldier #EngieSolly #Helmet Party

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khaleesiofalicante · 10 months

Note

i did not think i would live to see the day where we have (basically) angst-free mavid. but what a glorious day it is ☀️🙌

and i will most definitely accept this fic as an apology for both fmf and lbaf. i have a feeling i’m gonna migrate back to it after any remotely angsty thing in lbaf v.

ok an extended list of my thoughts, reactions, ramblings, etc.:

max in a suit will forever be my fave

brunch is most definitely a real meal, for adamant breakfast haters like myself

“How on earth could a stupid legal meeting be more important than avocado toast and strawberry mimosas?” david is the realest

david my love, calling him just mr.lightwood and not mr.lightwood-bane is probably losing you some points

the second hand embarrassment is real in this one dani 😩

“He’d like to see anyone else in that family write a dissertation on gender and colonialism in Jane Austen's Mansfield Park” he’s so hot for this

alec being taylor swifts lawyer but supporting her carbon emissions 😔 can’t win them all, folks

david baby, alec is just being jealous, don’t take it so personally pleeeeeaaasseeee

every single mavid scene in here is making me giggle and kick my feet 🥰🤭

i love the subtle netflix slander in all these fics

alec walking in on mavid 😭 david really can’t catch a break

david really is a perfect piece of shit

anjali is the absolute best. the standard, even

“you. always. all the time.” somebody hold me

david “accidentally” ruining the cake, this boy is too sweet

and the apple strudel scene was too funny

the little fbi max???? david is the best boyfriend ever

“You're my lawyer. You have to do as I ask. You can either help me or I will fire you and find someone else who will.” that was very hot

“I do have power over him. You really don’t want to see what I can do with it” this was also very hot

all their little pillow talk scenes make me so soft

seeing mavid elope in every universe is my absolute favorite

“Do not do the shimmy dance. Do not do the shimmy dance!” 😭😭😭

“he is gonna end up in a hospital like he did in Cairo” any mention of other max will be considered foreshadowing, dani

the entirety of chapter 8 was so perfect, i cant-

“sad gay prince and his little choir boyfriend” this is forever how i’m gonna refer to young royals now😤

“I represent all sorts of people,” the other man notes and then winks at David. oh, he is most defintely taylor swifts lawyer, isn’t he?

“Now I’m saying they met because of me,” the man hums. “But one does wonder where the mavid ship would be without the wind that is Jace Herondale.” YOU TELL THEM 😤

“David, you are a like a son to me and I love you very much.” HE FINALLY SAID IT 🎉

taylor swift? the taylor swift???? omg

the whole moment where mavid was singing the lines of “lover” to each other was perfect

i can’t blame david because i would also be in shock if i found myself having a conversation with hozier

david beauchamp, you perfect son of a bitch

Do you think he'll like it and forgive me for all the pain I'm about to put him through in LBAF? 🥺 david might, but i won’t. leave my baby girl alone dani, i beg of you

i think this fic was the best thing that ever happened to me 🤍💙💛

ps: don’t you dare think i missed that lbaf foreshadowing 👀 just cause other max doesn’t have david anymore doesn’t mean he can’t have any love in his life dani 😩 and what is this i hear about disrupting canon events 🤨

pps: if other max can hop dimensions, i’m sure it would be very amusing (and eerie) for him to see that mundane david writes about him so accurately

ppps: i’ve marked my calendar for lbaf v, i am so excited for this (i’m assuming the 18 chapters is the 18 years between lbaf iv v)

Was this angst free tho 👀

I'm so glad you enjoyed the fic and loved the fluff (see? i can write fluff too!!)

The 18 chapters have time skips, so it isn't really one chapter for each year (there are more than a 20 years gap if I'm not wrong - I'm begging yall don't make me do the math)

love u

#best thing ever

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amywritesthings · 1 year

Text

I posted 1,295 times in 2022

That's 1,291 more posts than 2021!

372 posts created (29%)

923 posts reblogged (71%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@prolix-yuy

@iamskyereads

@amywritesthings

@meadowofsinfulthoughts

@mandosmistress

I tagged 1,281 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#feedback. - 264 posts

#fic: point a to point b - 183 posts

#q - 178 posts

#fic recs tag. - 176 posts

#commentary. - 101 posts

#din djarin - 90 posts

#pedro pascal - 82 posts

#the mandalorian - 71 posts

#art. - 67 posts

#prolix-yuy - 67 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#this could also inspire me to write a line from a future fic.... stares at my 'want to write' list like

My Top Posts in 2022:

SERIES MASTERLIST ( WIP )

Summary: Escorting a former Empire prisoner of war to a Rebel Alliance safe zone? It should be a piece of cake. Absolutely no problems whatsoever.

A/N: Point A to Point B is a multi-chapter romance loosely following The Mandalorian S2. It follows ‘You’ and your journey with Mando after your rescue from an Imperial ship. His task is to escort you to Coruscant, though you have no memory of the cause (or who you truly are).

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader ( Din x You ) Rating: Explicit ( 18+ only / smut noted with an asterisk*) Word Count: 54K+ Tags: Slow Burn, Smut, Mentions of PTSD, Amnesia, Adult language, Manhandling, Praise kink, Injuries, Graphic violence, Mentions of torture, Flashbacks, Yearning, Blindfolds, Mando is Very Religious, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension, Dirty talk, Oral sex, Virgin!Din, Hand play, Helmet Stays On, Warnings update per chapter

( Visit my AO3 version of this story. )

CHAPTERS

1. THE EXCHANGE / 2. NAMELESS, FACELESS / 3. THE WAY / 4. A TOAST TO MARKET / 5. BAD TIMES AT THE SUPPLY ROYALE / 6. JEALOUSY / 7. GEDET’YE* / 8. READY, AIM / 9. FIRE (PART I)* / 10. FIRE (PART II)* / 11. THERE ARE OTHERS / 12. CHASING A RUMOR / 13. THE FREIGHTER / 14. WRECKED / 15. NER GAI* / 16. tbd!

Join the tag list here!

473 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

Meet Me At The Usual

gif credit @ gwinammie

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 5K

Summary: It's sophomore year Winter Formal, and things get a little messy with your secret friendship (and secret crush) with the Freak of Hawkins High.

Warnings: Language, Fluff & Angst, Secret Friendship, Unresolved Crushes, School Dances, Yearning, First Kiss, Eddie Munson in a Suit

A/N: Enjoy my self-indulgent, cavity-inducing story of Eddie Munson having a massive crush on you and not knowing how to be chill about it. I love writing this man. Prequel to Where Shadows Meet Shapes.

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW

“I wanted to ask you to the dance tonight,” you croak before you can chicken out.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, readjusting his all-too-aloof demeanor in order to protect the brief, crackled surprise underneath.

“Little ol’ me? I thought it was supposed to be the other way: guys ask girls, yada yada—”

“You were never going to ask me.”

His chin juts back, face scrunching in offense. “That isn’t true.”

See the full post

546 notes - Posted June 12, 2022

Where Shadows Meet Spaces

gif credit @ drogonstone

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader (Rated E; 18+ only)

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: He’ll never be what your father approves of, and he’ll certainly never be a boy you can bring home to meet your mother. Eddie isn’t your life plan, but he doesn’t ask you to look anywhere beyond the here and right now.

Warnings: Smut, Oral Sex (f!receiving), Porn with Feelings, Pet Names, Protected Sex, Eager!Eddie

A/N: So did we all fall in love with the same 3x senior year goblin boy or what? I wrote this in two hours. Enjoy my thirst for this sweet idiot.

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW

“Do you want to roll for perception?” you ask, sliding the fingers of your right hand to the top white button.

His eyes widen gradually to the size of saucers the second the button snaps open, exposing the start of bare collarbones.

“If you talk Dirty and Dungeons to me, angel, I won’t last beyond a minute.”

“So your usual, then.”

The quick-witted response garners a genuine belly laugh from the curly-haired boy.

“Oh, fuck off.”

See the full post

578 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

A FIRST FOR BREATHING

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (+ Marc Spector x Reader)

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: (Spoilers) At the end of Episode 5, Steven wakes up.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings

A/N: Marvel owes me compensation for my emotional state this morning, so here’s a little hurt & comfort smut to hopefully make you feel better. (Because I did it so I felt a little better lbr.)

Also dedicating this to the Moon Knight besties @prolix-yuy & @iamskyereads , ilu both.

( Read on AO3 )

It’s as if he’s taking his first gulp of air.

With an anguished gasp, Steven Grant jolts from his mattress in a cold sweat. Sometimes it’s always like this: seconds that feel like minutes, minutes that feel like hours, to get his bearings of where he’s been. Tingles at the tips of his fingers are a good sign. It means his body’s working — their body, the body that was once torn apart — and his second instinct is to stare.

In the dark, in the mirror, until he sees a familiar silhouette.

Except it isn’t his, not really. Not entirely.

The sheets beside him move, and in the gentle hue from the London street lights peering through the bedroom window he can see the relief in Marc’s face when you wrap a hand around Steven’s bare bicep.

“Steven?”

Concern. You’re not meant to be concerned, not about him. And if Steven wasn’t so frightful at the idea of Marc’s eyes disappearing from view, then maybe he would have turned faster.

“Are you alright?” he asks, but not to you.

Swallowing thick to calm the tremble in his throat, Steven waits for Marc to say something, anything, between the reflection keeping them separate.

(There was a space where the alters were tangible. Is that how close they’ll ever get, when Death is a mere few feet away?)

“Answer her, Steven,” Marc answers instead, jaw tense.

Always so closed off. Always so worried about everyone else.

“Is Marc okay?” you murmur, cautious in your approach to be the middleman of the equation. Approaching the two can often feel like trying not to spook a wild animal — while one will respond, the other is prone to run.

When you stare into the mirror, it’s only Steven’s wide eyes and wild curls matted to his forehead. He looks like he’s seen ghosts. The worry festers in the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell her we’re okay,” Marc urges, gaze focused on you behind Steven as if he can tell you himself without the buffer of another person.

“I— yeah, think so,” Steven finally answers for the both of them, blinking to glance at you through the reflection.

“What about you?”

It’s eerie, how you and Marc seem to echo the same concern in different octaves. The question is spoken at the same time, further confusing reality from his own mind.

Steven squeezes his eyes shut, making a noise of discomfort. “Oh, god, dunno what the hell happened. Felt like I— like we got separated and it all went black and I couldn’t feel a bloody thing…”

“Separated?”

You shift on the mattress to sit in front of Steven, but he’s already meeting you in the middle. With desperation, he turns from the mirror to quickly pull your face into his large hands. He inhales sharply, as if the mixture of your lingering perfume and the ability to expand his lungs will be enough to bring him solace.

Right on the precipice of what it means to be alive and dead.

See the full post

817 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Meet Me On the Other Side

PART ONE: THE PLAN

gif credit to @ joseph-quinns

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary: The Hawkins crew only has eight people in their three-tier plan to take down Vecna. Eddie makes a Hail Mary of a phone call to even the odds.

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, VOL2 FIX-IT, Language, Angst (with a Happy Ending), Unresolved Tension, Yearning, Peril, Violence, The Upside Down, Desperate-To-Kiss!Eddie, we’re writing this entire storyline baybee let’s go

A/N: Are you hurting just as much as I am after Vol2? Cool, well that didn’t happen. This is the new canon. Within the ‘Freak & Valedictorian’ series. Separate Ways (Remix) intensifies.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW:

“Eddie?” Click.

And just like that, Eddie Munson is gone.

(You refuse to let that be the final say in this conversation.)

Leaving behind your homework and study for a pair of keys and sneakers, you burst from your dorm room and run down the hallway to the stairs, to the student parking lot, and beeline to your car.

Hawkins is a two hour drive.

If you double the speed limit down the interstate highway, then you can make it in half the time.

See the full post

891 notes - Posted July 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #LMAO NOT ALL OF MY EDDIE FICS BEING MY #BEST STUFF #also LJ being one of my top everything... this checks out

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sadcatjae · 2 years

Text

Sadcatjae Masterpost

Just a list of all my ongoing writing incl. gifs and vids. Let me know if you want to be added/removed from taglists.

INTRO POST

***

The Perfect Tyrant

Tyrannical Emperor of Eshara has been captured and held hostage in his own palace after the rebellion rises against him.

1. Suffocation I 2. Crushed I 3. Cut I 4. Apathy (WIP)

The Demon & The Priest

A demon seeks the aid of his mortal enemy, a warrior of the light, when he is cursed by his former master.

1. Help I 2. Curse I 3. Rest I 4. Cold (WIP)

Extra 1: Just Like A Mortal

Nothing Boy

A kind-hearted warrior of light attempts to save his cruel and sadistic warden.

1. A Tender Killing I 2. Liberation I 3. Healing I 4. Fight I 5. Isolation (WIP)

Metamorphosis

A highly sheltered and privileged college student is kidnapped and thrust into a dark underbelly world.

1. Waking Up I 2. Bullet Wound (WIP)

Mercy

A broken assassin, used then discarded by the crown, is exiled to a small town where he meets a young guard determined to save him.

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 (WIP)

One Shots/Other Writing

Arrow Removal: A caustic young master is shot by an arrow and needs it removed.

Collapse: An innocent man standing accused for murder collapses at his own trial.

Panic Attack: A home intruder has a panic attack as he attempts to torture his victim.

Pretty: A bank robbery goes wrong and the perpetrator is stabbed by one of the hostages. Possible second part TBC.

Sweet Thing: Earnest gets his hand toasted. Delicious Earnest sandwich.

The First Shot: A prisoner is injected with pure pain element in exchange for cash. One down, nine more to go.

Juniper's Question: A clueless immortal asks a human what it means to love.

Meant To Be Yours: My ongoing (and super whumpy) Heathers fanfic, retelling the events of Heathers from JD's POV.

Rin the Rat: My ongoing BL novel that's full of whump and angst and Gay.

Welcome Home, Caleb Widogast: My ongoing Critical Role fic about my favourite squishy wizard that's also full of whump and angst and Gay. Currently on hiatus.

Whumpy Gifsets

Love & Redemption: Part One I Part Two I Part Three I Part Four

Heathers: the Musical (JD Gifset)

Whumpy Vids

Ever Night (Season 2)

Till the End of the Moon

Sugar Apple Fairy Tale

Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938: Episode 3 I Episode 6

#sadcatjae #whump #whump writing #whump masterpost #whump masterlist #whump gifs #whump gifset #whump video

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

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over-under-through1 · 3 years

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Have any more headcanons for Robin, Mike, Robike(Them together), Miblo and Buttercup?

i’ll try to get a few of these down ><

Robin, Mike, and Robike gen headcannons:

Robin is deathly allergic to shell fish. she found this out okay her and mikes 2nd date, where he took her out for sushi, she got a tempura shrimp roll, and 10 minutes later had to be rolled out in an ambulance. never again. (don’t ask how she had never eaten it before)

in solidarity to her shell fish allergy, mike refuses to eat any kind of shell fish as well. call him a romantic.

mike is a HORRID singer. boy sounds like a car’s rev engine. it’s bad.

this fact does not stop him from tearing it up on karaoke night at the Utonium household

he is also a hopeless dancer. white boy dance moves for days. some of his favorites include: the lawmower, the sprinkler (basically any dance that’s named after backyard machinery), the running man, and worst of all, flossing

once again, this does not stop him from trying. “BABE!! BAE!! HUN!! LOVE!! LOOK AT ME GO!! COME OVER HERE LETS DANCE TOGETHER!!” *cue groaning and hiding behind Buttercup on Robins behalf as Buttercup laughs her ass off with Butch and records*

don’t get between Robin and her ice cream sandwiches. my girl turns into a banshee the second she spots one.

Mike cannot swallow pills. he has tried so, so hard, but year after year he ends up gagging and crushes them up to drink down with water. poor guy, don’t even bring advil liquigels into his line of vision

Mitch, Pablo, and Miblo gen headcannons:

when Mitch first saw Pablo walk into his 10th grade homeroom, he gay panicked, blue screened, mumbled at Buttercup “pretty… boy…” then zombie walked past her, the teacher, Pablo himself (who noticed and was immediately enamored with Mitch), out the room, past the vice principal, then trudged 4 miles home in a daze with Buttercup flying behind him shouting. he woke up an hour later with no recollection of any of this

Buttercup still makes fun of him to this day for the incident. she tells the story in her toast as best woman at the Miblo wedding

Pablo is a giant. he is a good 7 inches taller than Mitch (as stated in my height headcannons post). Mitch makes Pablo carry him around practically everywhere and Pablo ALWAYS hits his head when he walks into Mitch’s trailer. always. every single time. it doesn’t matter that he’s come over hundreds of times, or that he tells himself beforehand each time “Pablo, you will not, under any circumstances, hit your head on the door frame this time. Mitch will not make fun of you because it will not happen.” it still happens. it’s not preventable.

it doesn’t even matter that even people TALLER than Pablo (cough Boomer cough) can enter Mitch’s trailer without hitting their head. Pablo keeps a cool head most of the time, but he has broken and threatened the door many times in the past.

Mitch is a mini space heater and Pablo is the coldest man alive. many-a-cuddling sessions happen in winter (and though Pablo won’t admit it, fall too. and spring.)

Mitch is friends with basically everyone at their school, he’s very extroverted and good at making conversation with people, he tries making friends with at least one new person a day

so, so many people ask Pablo if he’s on the volleyball or basketball team. they are very, very wrong, my boy is the editor of the school paper and he could not be prouder of his position. FANTASTIC writer, and when you have an in with the schools very own superheroes, there’s nothing really stopping you from climbing your way to the top

Mitch was highkey terrified of Butch when Buttercup first introduced him, but now there is literally nothing that Butch could do to make Mitch feel intimidated. if Butch even tried, Mitch would be right on his ass making fun of him for it

gen Buttercup headcannons (tw: mentions of panic attacks):

still has a fear of spiders, but instead of screaming over them and flying away, she gets a very dark look in her eyes and will not hesitate to destroy the house in order to kill the vermin. her sisters and all of her friends have to constantly be aware of any 8 legged bugs around them so they can keep it out of BC’s sights, if only to preserve the land within a 5 mile radius around them

has been begging Prof.Utonium to let her get a lizard for the past 4 years. she had one for a week but her dad found it and immediately set it free

her ears are the most sensitive of the groups, they all have supersonic senses, but BC’s are especially heightened, possibly due to her lack of “special powers” (total fucking bullshit btw, fuck you ppg writers for treating BC like shit)

i think?? i’ve mentioned her ability to see in the future before here?? that’s because of the her senses. no one ask me about the science behind it, just go with it, okay? super eye sight= glimpses into the future

this ability has saved many of her teammates from colossal damage before, but (angst warning), because she’s had to see those images in her mind to be able to warn them about it, it’s left lasting trauma on her and has made her very protective of her friends and family. do not fuck with anyone that BC is close with, she will mess you up for it

one particular prediction she got showed Butch in a very… gruesome situation. i don’t want to go into detail, but it fucked her up for a bit, and there was about a week where Buttercup couldn’t/wouldn’t leave Butch’s side in fear of what could happen to him

she still sometimes gets flashes of that memory and it’s caused a couple panic attacks. when she found out, Blossom taught her some breathing exercises to help her through it if one comes on

THAT GOT SAD IM SO SORRY I FULLY INTENDED FOR THAT HEADCANNON TO JUST BE ABOUT BC HAVING A SPECIAL POWER AND IT DIVERGED INTO THAT

okay one SWEET headcannon for the road. Buttercup really values quality time with her loved ones, and though she doesn’t admit it often, everytime the team + the norms have their little hang out sessions, she sees it as a time for her to chill, and it’s those times that she feels her happiest and like she can genuinely be herself without judgement from classmates or the press

thank you for the ask!! i got a random burst of inspiration that i haven’t felt in a bit when this was sent in, i appreciate you for that :))

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yeonanak · 3 years

Text

The summary of a fic I want to write but also not really

Tags: crack tread seriously, Kusuke being Kusuke, stupid science, love at first sight, canon typical nonsense, platonic Kusuo/Chisato, Saiki and Mera being best friends, crack Saiki Kusuo/Mera Chisato, slight saiteru, saiteru fluff, kubokai angst on the side, Hairo/Nendo on the side, bisexual Kaido Shun, Pansexual Kuboyasu Aren, gay Hairo Kineshi, aroace spectrum Saiki Kusuo, mera being mera

A disease designed by Kusuke to mimic the effect Teruhashi has on the male population fails miserably when Kusuo unknowingly spreads the illness to his fellow schoolmates. The boys of PK Academy are falling in love left and right with the first girl they lay their eyes on.

And the first girl that ran into Kusuo today, face full of toast, had to be Mera Chisato, of all people.The girls can’t leave them alone while Kusuke finds a cure- poor Kusuo is gonna be broke by the end of the day. Meanwhile, Kuboyasu is having a meltdown because him and Kaido only had eyes for each other yesterday.

(Or, Saiki’s friends notice him acting oddly sweet on Mera today. And need to intervene when they realize she intends to take full advantage of that. Meanwhile, a lot of gay panic)

I just want to write a fic where Mera and Saiki become best friends who don’t even really like each other but eat sweets and grocery shop together damn

Inspired by this post by @gayacesaikik

#Saiki k fanfic #Saiki k fandom #Saiki k #saiki k au #saiki kusuo #saiki kusuo no psi nan #saiteru #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #terusai #the disasterous life of saiki k #saiki k #kaido shun #kuboyasu aren #mera chisato #teruhashi kokomi

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akdjrbeuwisusehebr · 3 years

Text

Undertale AUs as vines and memes (none belong to me) part 1:

Training with 404:

Error: *Glitched screaming* Aaaaaaaahhhh aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh

404: Why are you running? Why are you running?

Nightmare: How do you know what's good for me?

Dream: That's my OPINION!

Nightmare who was startled back into his passive form: … surprised Pikachu face

Killer sitting off to the side: …

Blue: So how much money did that cost?

Cross: Yeah you know your boy got his free taco-

*Trips and drops it* *insert sad music here*

Blue: yes Yes YES!!! I GOT TWO FREE TACOS!!!

Ink: *exists*

Anyone who has finished season 1 of Underverse or X-tale the movie or both: Why you always lyin', why you always lyin', mmmmm, oh my god, stop fucking lyin'

Sci: Hmm. That is not correct. Because according to the encyclopedia of fldskahjbdfiw

Gradient: Stop saying that I look like Chicken Little. He is a freak and a coward! AND I AM NOT A COWARD!!!

Reaper: You're all going to hell! Bye!

Geno whenever a player decides to play the genocide route: You fricking fricks, when will you learn, when will you learn, that your actions HAVE CONSEQUENCES!!!

Geno: I love watching the watching the waves

Reaper: I'm in love with you Geno

Geno: …

Geno: *Screams and runs away from Reaper*

Reaper: chases him

Geno hiding from Reaper: It is hot as fuck in this hot ass stuffy ass room I'm in… IS THAT THE GRIM REAPER!!!

Reaper: *smiles*

Dust introducing anyone to Infected's cult be like:

Dust: Welcome to Bible study, were we're all children of Christ here

Horror and Axe worshipping Infected: Cumbia lord cumbia!!!

Red @ Edge: Bitch gon' step on my toes with them fuckin' cow girl fuckin' boots bitch DISGUSTING

Red, Raspberry, Blueberry, and Blackberry: A Wimbauea, A Wimbauea, A Wimbauea, A Wimbauea

Classic: Ah, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Crescent: You ready to fucking die!

Merciless: I'm a bad bitch you can't kill me!

Crescent: …

Crescent: BITCH-

Cross: I thought you were bae, turns out you were just fam

Epic: *sadly* Bruh

Cross: No *walks away*

BTW to Epiccross shippers I don't ship it so this isn't meant in that way, I respect your ship but I don't ship it so yeah

Nightmare: Dude I had a dream we fucked

Killer: It's just a dream

Killer: Yeah I'm not gay I wouldn't fuck you

Nightmare: You wouldn't

Killer: I mean… not unless you REALLY wanted me to

Sorry my Killermare shipper self got ahead of me for a second

Abyss @ 404: Go away! This isn't your land! No one wants you here!

Nightmare: I don't need friends they disappoint me

Lust: Making copies, move I'm gay

Lust five minutes later: In the workplace being gay just has its perks

Dream: Hey, how y'all-

Horror: rarrwarawraa

Dream: *screams* Get your fucking dog bitch!

Lust: It don't bite

Dream: YES IT DO!!!

Classic @ Blueberry, Red, Raspberry and Blackberry: These are my friends, my close good friends

Nightmare: Every time you yell at your kids put a quarter in your no yelling sock and soon you'll have a weapon to beat them with

Ink: I saw you hanging out with Blue yesterday

Error: I-Ink it's not what you think-

Ink: *grabs Broomie* I won't hesitate bitch-

Cross: *drops something* hurricane Katrina, more like hurricane Tortilla

Lust: I'm gay

Red: This first song I wrote, it's kinda short, it's called a world on fire… it goes like this… aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh

Lux: I know real thugs okay, my uncle (Nightmare) was a real thug. Certified thug. You could put a stamp on it. He always had this one face… never changed, no matter what he said. He could be saying 'SPREAD THAT JELLY ON THE TOAST FOOL DO IT AND DO RIGHT' and he still has that one face on

Crescent, Angst and Merciless: Our house in the middle of our house, our house in the middle of our house, our house, is our castle were we preach

Dream: And they were roommates

Ink who overheard: Oh my god they were roommates

Dance: Hi I'm Dance and I'm going to be your free style dance teacher

Blue: How old are you

Dream: 504, I'm a grandpa

Error: Screams and runs away from Fresh, gaster blaster him

Fresh: Chases him

Music in the background: She's a maniac, maniac on the floor on the floor...

Raspberry: Hello Blue

Blueberry: Hey Raz

Raspberry: Those shoes look... familiar

Me irl: Hey, thanks for checking in, but I'm still a piece of garbage

Me irl (again): Oh man I sure hope I don't fall down these stairs *proceeds to fall down the stairs* Ow

Cross looking for his son: Starcross where are you… *whispers* damnit

Passive!NM: * twirling* *music* Mix it all together and you know that it's the best of both worlds *turns into Corrupted!NM*

Corrupted!NM: *Cackles* Ah hahahahaha

Lavander be like: I am in nature! I have lifetime supply of vitamin D3. Roses are red, violets are blue, I am a hummingbird, I shall suck their natural hue. Brrrrriiing! Coo cooooooo! Who needs house when you have hole. Ow I have been stung by bush again

Dream: What do you have?!?!

Lux: A knife!

Dream: NO!!!

Dust trying to convince Killer to join Infected's cult be like:

Dust: The bible

Killer: It says the bibble

Dust: YOU DARE QUESTION THE WORDS OF THE MIGHTY INFECTED!!!

Farm: Look at all these chickens *points at his chicken coop*

I'll make a part two soon… probably after the Jaylight oneshot.

#AUs #Vines #Undertale

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eyeofthedrgn · 3 years

Text

I have finally decided on a title for this multi chapter Rowcan fic: A Heavy Battle Symphony. Inspired by two Linkin Park songs (Heavy{feat. Kiiara}, Battle Symphony) that seem to fit the bill of the overall tone of the story. Since it deals with such dark topics and mental health, it just works. I wasn't intending for this to be song inspired, but here we are.

Also, I'm bad at summaries, but here we go:

Set in a modern high school AU. Lorcan was forced to live with his Aunt Maeve and boyfriend James Perrington, both of which are abusive. Once they move to Orynth, Lorcan's life is thrown into disarray when he meets Rowan.

Trigger warnings : language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: just over 2k

Chapter 1 - Numb

Lorcan Salvaterre has had a pretty shitty life for only being 17. He's been to so many different schools, he doesn't remember them all. His mother died long ago, he didn't have a father, and he was then forced to live with his despicable Aunt Maeve when he was five. Lorcan didn't remember his mother anymore, all he knew was the cruelty of his aunt and her boyfriend, James Perrington.

Maeve's job required them to move every few months. Which meant his schooling was rather poor and often overlapped from school to school. He was always the loner and easily overlooked, at least until his growth spurt last year that catapulted him to be six and half feet tall.

He'd never had a friend in his life. No one would ever want to be friends with him in the first place. He always had a scowl on his face, wore black, long black hair, head down, his skin was a beautiful deep olive, his eyes dark as onyx. He was rather strange. And since his growth spurt, his hulking frame kept everyone away.

He never smiled, he rarely talked. To anyone. Not that he had much to say. He had no hobbies, no pleasures. All he was allowed to do in this meaningless life were chores, his homework, and lay in his room staring at the ceiling.

The way Lorcan had grown up was brutal. There were beatings for not finishing chores, misbehaving, or most of the time, just existing. He never got three meals a day, on the very rare occasion, he would get a small dinner, but generally, the only meal was usually lunch at school or when they were traveling. Even then, Maeve would order the smallest meal for the boy, gods forbid she had to spend more money on him than necessary or look bad in front of people.

That also meant that if he needed new clothes or something for school, he had to work extra for it. A lot of the time, he felt like a severely more abused Cinderella. His aunt made him do some of the most tedious chores in payment for his necessities.

The chores he could handle, sometimes they were even relaxing. The beatings on the other hand were less than desirable. Especially when most of the abuse wasn't even a result of Lorcan's supposed incompetency. But every beating was recorded in Lorcan's journal and accompanied by self harm.

Lorcan's mental health was far from healthy. He wished he had the courage to slice his wrists deeper, but if he failed to finish the job, he couldn't imagine how Maeve would react and what she would make Perrington do to him. So, he settled for the scars.

His wrists and forearms were covered in scars. Every shirt he had was long sleeved to cover his coping habit. He didn't want questions or people staring, he hated being pitied. Honestly, he hated pretty much everything.

---

The new apartment Maeve had rented in Orynth was just like the rest of them. Lorcan's room was the smallest and also used for storage. Not that it mattered to Lorcan he only had a few things anyway, but it did mean that either his aunt or her boyfriend would barge in, whenever they wished, to grab something. Since Lorcan realized they were never going to stop and they always removed the lock from his door, he took to changing in the bathroom.

Lorcan was exhausted. He had spent all day moving every single box Maeve and Perrington had into the new apartment, making sure he put the boxes in the correct rooms. And setting up his room to give himself some semblance of privacy with the way he piled the storage boxes.

A sleeping bag, a duffel bag full of worn and faded clothes in various shades of black, a few well worn books, a journal that he used to record every beating and every cut, and a fraying backpack full of school supplies were all of Lorcan's belongings. He didn't even have a real bed. Or a pillow.

Almost asleep in his sleeping bag, Maeve barges into his room and starts yelling at him.

"Lorcan! Where in the gods' forsaken apartment are my hair products!"

Lorcan had no idea why she needed them at midnight. "They're in your bathroom." Obviously.

"If they were, I wouldn't be here, you useless piece of shit!" She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, then shoved him into the hall. He knew better than to fight as he stumbled down the hall, he did his best to keep his face neutral, but fuck, that hurt.

Resisting the urge to rub his poor scalp, he stalked to Maeve's bathroom and opened the box labeled MAEVE'S HAIR PRODUCTS. Lorcan sighed when he was greeted with her towels.

"I already looked there, you little welp," she snarled. "Now find my shit!" She stormed out and slammed the door.

Lorcan hung his head and looked around the room. He just wanted to sleep. It wasn't his fucking fault she mislabeled her fucking boxes. Again. Finding the box labeled MAEVE'S TOWELS, he opened it and sighed with relief as he set eyes on her missing items, and set the box on the counter. He informed Maeve of his discovery before heading back to bed.

---

Five hours later, Lorcan woke up, like clockwork. He released a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. Hel, he was tired. Time to start an exhausting day of learning a new school and schedule.

Every morning was the same, up at five, shower, get ready for school, make breakfast that he wasn't allowed to eat. Only the adults were allowed breakfast. He'd get a knee to the gut if he attempted to snatch a strip of bacon or a link of sausage, or even a piece of toast. So, his stomach would growl until he got to eat a pathetic school lunch.

This morning would be slightly different from the rest, though. Maeve would have to take him to school and make sure he was registered. She always acted the caring aunt in public. It disgusted Lorcan. Especially when she would go the extra mile and kiss his cheek.

After Maeve left without a word to Lorcan, he stood in the main hall with his schedule and map in hand. This school was huge. Much bigger than most of the other high schools he had been to. That was to be expected, though. This was Orynth High after all, the biggest high school in the biggest city of Terrasen.

He looked over his schedule. He had no idea how he made it to senior year with all the holes in his education.

Fuck, why was pre-calc first? At least he was good at math.

He looked at the clock at the end of the hall, he still had half an hour before school actually started. Rather than wasting time, he found all of his classrooms in order, twice, and then went to the library to grab the necessary textbooks.

By the time he left the library, the halls were filling up. Kids all around him were chattering, he was either ignored or kids looked at him with scared eyes and scurried out of his way.

He tugged his hood up and shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and made his way to first period.

---

Since it was the start of a new semester, most teachers ignored that Lorcan was new to the school. That was fine, he didn't want the attention anyway. But in his last class of the day, creative writing, they had to split into groups for an assignment. Lorcan hated group assignments. He was partnered with the smallest teenager he had ever seen.

"I'm Elide. You're new here aren't you?"

His nod was barely perceptible.

"It's Lorcan, right?" He nodded again. "Where are you from?" Her eyes were filled with pure curiosity.

He cleared his throat. "Originally from Doranelle, but I don't remember it. My mother died when I was five. My aunt took me in and we move a lot." He blinked and shook his head in confusion at himself for telling a complete stranger something he hadn't told anyone else before.

How did this petite young woman bewitch him to talk more than he had in weeks? Lorcan felt exposed under her gaze. It felt like she could read him like a book. It was unnerving.

"That sounds rough. I hope you like it here and I hope we can be friends." She finished with a smile.

Lorcan just turned back to the assignment.

The class passed without much other conversation besides about the assignment they had to do together.

Finally, the bell rang signalling the end of the day.

The first day at this school was done and he was exhausted and hungry. Lorcan was so focused on packing up his supplies into his ratty backpack that he didn't realize Elide was talking to him.

"A group of us are going to the park to hang out, wanna join?" He was zipping up his backpack, not hearing a word she said. "Lorcan?"

"Huh?" He looked up, confused. She giggled. His cheeks heated just slightly.

"Do you want to hang out with my friends and I after school?"

Why would he want to do that? Lorcan did remember saying she hoped they could be friends, but he thought she was just being polite. Now, she was trying to follow through.

But there was only one answer.

"No."

---

Elide adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she walked to the park to meet her friends. She could see Lorcan walking on the other side of the street away from her. His hood was up, head down, hands in his hoodie pocket, his posture slightly hunched. She thought he could almost pass for a shadow if his black clothes weren't so faded and worn.

She remembered looking into his eyes during class and seeing deep pools of onyx, they would have been gorgeous, but instead, they were dull, and lifeless. He had been so hard to read. Elide had guessed that he didn't have a good home life and they were poor, by the state of his clothes and backpack. She had seen the scars on his wrist when he reached into his bag for an eraser. It broke her heart. Watching him walk away, she noticed how awkwardly his clothes hung off of him. He was definitely too skinny for his frame.

So lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear one of her friends come up behind and loop his arms through hers. Elide yelped and then realized it was her friend, Rowan Whitethorn. He had silver hair and pine green eyes that were always bright.

"I didn't mean to scare you! I called your name, but you were off in your own little world!"

"Sorry. I was thinking about the new kid that you will probably end up having a crush on." Rowan scoffed, Elide just laughed.

They walked a bit in silence until Rowan made his confession.

"He is hot! He's in my gym class. Tell me everything, my precious Elide! I want to know!" Rowan was so excitable, it was infectious.

"He's in my creative writing class and we were partnered together. He said he's from Doranelle, his mother died when he was five, and his aunt took him in. And apparently, they move a lot." She also told him about the assumptions she made from her observations.

Rowan soaked up every word.

---

Lorcan was doing homework at the kitchen table when Maeve and Perrington came in with take out. It smelled good, Lorcan's stomach rumbled. Damn it. To his surprise, Maeve set down a small Chinese take out box right in the middle of this textbook. He blinked at it, and then up at his aunt, she looked kind for once. "Thank you." It was barely a whisper, but he knew she heard it because she nodded before walking away.

Sometimes he actually thought she loved him..

After his studies and meager dinner, Lorcan laid in his sleeping bag, using an old hoodie that didn't fit anymore as a pillow, trying to sleep. A sigh left his lips and he rolled over.

He couldn't sleep even though he was exhausted, so he pulled a well worn novel from his duffle bag. It was The Hobbit. Lorcan had read it many times. The spine was broken, pages were dog eared, some of the pages weren't even glued in anymore. But he enjoyed the adventure.

Lorcan was halfway through his book, when his window started lightening with the new day. He groaned and his stomach growled.

++++

Rowan couldn't get that new dark haired boy out of his mind. Lorcan Salvaterre. He had soaked up all the information he could from Elide about his new crush. Concentrating on his homework was so hard.

"Ugh." Rowan ran his hand through his hair and smacked his cheeks a couple of times to get himself to snap out of it. He still had homework to finish.

"Rowan, love, would you like some hot chocolate?" His mom leaned into his room. "You seem distracted today."

His mom, Barb, was the sweetest lady and the best mother one could ask for. They talked about everything. And he swore she had eyes everywhere because she always knew everything. Sometimes, Rowan hated that his mom was so observant.

"Yes, please." He got up from his desk and followed his mom to the kitchen. He enjoyed his cocoa with marshmallows. After taking a few sips, he told his mom about the new kid in school. She just smiled knowingly at him.

"Elide says he moves a lot. But I don't know exactly what 'a lot' means. Also, he's probably not into guys." He quirked his lips to the side.

"You should probably start with actually talking to the boy."

Rowan whined, "Mom!" She just laughed and kissed the top of his head before retreating to the living room, leaving him with his thoughts and empty cup.

_____

Thanks for reading! I'll probably post the next chapter next Thursday or Friday.

#rowcan #rowan x lorcan #lorcan salvaterre #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #linkin park #heavy battle symphony #fanfic #rowcan fanfic

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strutitout · 3 years

Text

LARRY FIC REC - recently read

1. I don't want a taste (I want it all) [3K] by thedaggerrose (blessedfetish)

What Louis really needed was a fat fucking nap.

What Louis got instead was some hipster-looking wannabe arguing with him over the validity of avocado toast.

Or the AU where Harry tells Louis to go fuck himself, Louis tells Harry to fuck him himself, and Harry follows through.

✨ Cute and hot + they bantering over avocado tost.

2. Right Side of the Wrong Bed [10K] by eyesofshinigami

There, standing in a pair of ridiculously tiny briefs and wielding a frying pan in one hand, is quite possibly the prettiest boy he's ever seen. Louis scrubs a hand across his face. "I'm in the wrong goddamn flat, aren't I?"

Or, the one where Louis wakes up on the wrong couch only to meet his future husband (even if Harry doesn't know it yet).

✨ This was not the first and won’t be the last time I read this fic. It’s super fun, hot, and even though it’s “just” 10K, their connection is really well-built.

3. When Least Expected [22K] by Rearviewdreamer

Drowning in a sea of emails and Zoom meetings in the living room, his lonely son falling more and more behind in his kitchen classroom, and crushing weight of the world being on house arrest for the foreseeable future, one fateful online interaction suddenly has everything looking up.

✨Louis’ kid is having a hard time trying to adjust to the new reality brought by COVID, until he starts having music classes with music teacher Harry, and things start looking up for both father and son. Very sweet fic and really interesting to see them falling on love over this hard times.

4. Naked Attraction #2 [29K] by reader_chic_2

“By the way, I checked you out quite a lot before your tube was raised.”

Harry smiled lustrously, “Yeah? More than Leonard? He might have been crazy, but he was sort of cute.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Maybe to you, Styles, but I don’t enjoy dominating in the bedroom.”

“Is that so?” Harry licked his lips. “Funnily enough, I do.”

Louis felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. “I’m not sure if someone as adorable as you could dish out commands.”

Harry laughed brightly, and in a second flat his hand reached out and gripped his hip so hard it made Louis gasp. His eyes darkened, boring into Louis’ with a burning intensity. “And I’m not sure someone as mouthy as you could take my commands. Want to test it out?”

. . .

Louis Tomlinson is the first openly gay football player in the Premier football League. He was outed by the paps, but he’s had to embrace it since then. To show he doesn’t have shame in it, he goes onto Naked Attraction, and all the money will go to LGBTQ+ support, but he has made some changes to the show. Incidentally, he meets a certain Harry Styles there, and that is when things get interesting...

✨ This was really really fun, loved their dynamic and found it a very original story. Fluff, fun and smut.

✨ Additional tags: Spanking. Subspace.

5. Hold Me Closer [36K] by balanceds

Louis Tomlinson is one of the most promising dancers of the English National Ballet, on track to become the youngest principal dancer in the company's history. That is, until forces conspire to significantly complicate his life, including: a surprise ballet, an unfairly attractive guest choreographer, and being pushed into a rivalry with his best mate. Featuring lots of wine, dancing, pining, and a happy ending.

✨ I’m not an expert but from the comments it seems the writter nailed the “dancing world” characterization (even though you don’t have to know anything about it to enjoy it). There’s some good banter and friendship; hot smut; lots of pining and not that much angst.

6. Whisper The Wind [36K] by jacaranda_bloom

Louis’ father has political ambitions and decides it’s time for Louis to step up as the company’s Chief Financial Officer. Louis thinks this is a monumentally stupid idea. After storming off in a rage he has a chance meeting with a tall, dark, curly haired stranger. A technical glitch with their shared elevator finds Louis spending twenty minutes with the most intriguing man he’s ever met. Unfortunately the man is leaving London the very next day and moving to Australia to work at his mates surf school. Timing, as they say, can fuck right off.

Fast forward three years and Louis is miserable, a shadow of the man he once was, working in his father’s company, and hating every moment. At his thirtieth birthday party, surrounded by people he doesn’t know or doesn’t like, he decides to throw it all in and follow the impossible dream. Happiness, a fulfilling life, and someone to love. The question is, will that dream be found ten thousand miles away on a sandy beach, with a curly headed surfer dude?

---

Or the one where Louis rides an elevator that may change his life forever, Harry loves the ocean but is a terrible surfer, Liam proves not all heroes wear capes, and Niall might actually have all the answers.

✨ No angst, this is 36K of pure fluff and hot smut (read tags). They fall in love almost immediately, so they are already together most of the story.

7. King of wishful thinking [38K] by Star_Henderson

“Don't umm don't get on the bus, come inside.” Louis blurted the words out, speaking quickly.

Harry looked startled.

“Just. Look I don't know if I want..” Louis scrubbed his face with his hand. “I'll pay for your time. Just come in.”

Harry stepped away from the bus stop and the bus sailed straight past.

“What's umm what do you guys make these days?”

Harry shuffled his feet. “Depends. Like two hundred an hour.”

Louis hummed. “Reasonable.” He gestured towards the hotel. “Come up for a drink or some room service or something.”

Harry scraped the toe of his already scuffed boots on the floor. “You don't have to do this, I feel like… like you're a nice person who feels bad but it's fine. I get it. You don't have to make it up to me.”

Louis stared at Harry. It'd been so long since he'd even spoken to a guy let alone hung out with one. He'd enjoyed the banter and the flirting.

“Come up.” Louis’ voice was soft.

Harry’s face bloomed into a smile. “Ok.”

✨This is another one that I’ve read more than once and still love. Sex worker Harry. Really sweet, very well-written and their love is really well constructed.

8. hush. [41K] by Wankerville

“I don't like you like that, Harry.”

“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”

---

or an au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

✨ Read the tags! My notes on this one were: SO SO BEAUTIFULLLLL. Loved it, angst (but not a heartbreaking one), SO MUCH FLUFF, great dialogues, great banter and smut. Loved it!!! (lol)

9. Don't Look Down [91K] by zarah5

AU. In which Louis is a solicitor at one of London’s most prestigious law firms and Harry happens to apply for the position as his trainee. And everyone else is around, too.

✨I love everything they write and this one wasn’t different. Amazing characterization, great dialogues, great banter! Absolutely loved it! Not much smut. A bit angsty, wanted to punch Louis at times, but all ended well.

10. Let Me Be Your Star [252K] by lovelarry10

Harry Styles has always been a singer, but he’s never had much confidence in himself. When his idol is brought on as the new judge on The X-Factor, he figures, what the hell? He’d get to sing and meet his idol. What could go wrong?

Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to mentor young musicians. When he’s asked to be a judge on The X-Factor, it’s a dream come true, everything he ever wanted. What he didn’t expect was to meet a curly-headed stranger that would turn his life upside down

✨Hot smut, a lot of fluff and not that much angst. Harry seems a bit immature (which makes sense for his age) but their relatioship is really sweet. (I also enjoy that the writer included pictures of how they imagined H and L on each presentation)

#fic rec #april 2021 #larry fics

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

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Wizards Hearts Recs: Patronus Themes

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Changing Tides by carpemermaid Rated: Explicit Words: 109687 Tags: Bisexual Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Dumbledore's Army, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Draco Malfoy, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Patronus, Gardens & Gardening, Cultural References, POV Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Fifth Year, POV Alternating, POV Harry Potter, Wandless Magic, Coming of Age, Mutual Pining, War AU, Romance, Falling In Love, Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Healing, Post-War, Ministry of Magic, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Soulmates, Community: hd_erised, Sexual Fantasy, Wet Dream, Snogging, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Emotional Sex, Hand Jobs, Professor Harry Potter, Person of Color Harry Potter Summary: Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life. Instead of doing what’s expected of him fifth year, he joins Dumbledore’s Army and learns how to defend himself, how to make his own choices, and how he can be something greater than his father’s example as he grows into his own man rather than his father’s shadow. The choices he makes change both his and Harry’s fates, intertwining their paths until they converge. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Eight Days (to Save the World) by Gnarf Rated: Mature Words: 47632 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Housemates, Friends to Lovers, Minor Character Death, Mentions of Death, Dementors, Dementor's Kiss, Inferi (Harry Potter), complot, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Potions, Spells & Enchantments, Auror Harry Potter, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Arrests, Duelling, Corrupt System, slytherin friendships, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, House Elves, Blood and Injury, Scars, Oblivious Harry Potter, patient draco malfoy, Abuse of Authority, Abuse of Auror Authority, Corruption, Law Enforcement Corruption, Ministry of Magic Corruption, Breaking and Entering, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Lies, Manipulation, Veritaserum, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Interrogation, Battle, Murder, Supremacist Group Murder of a Black Character followed by Government Cover-Up, H/D Erised 2020, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Case Fic, Conspiracy, safe houses, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Love Confessions, Auror Ron Weasley, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Friendship Summary: Darkness returns to the Wizarding World. People disappear without a trace, and all they leave behind are rumours. When the Aurors are tasked with arresting innocent witches and wizards, Harry once again takes it upon himself to fight against the evil infiltrating the Ministry. But this time he isn't alone. And one of his friends is especially determined not to let him die a second time. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 It's Joggers Season (or so the Muggles say) by carpemermaid Rated: Explicit Words: 10160 Tags: Romance, Joggers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Pining, Falling In Love, Growing Up, Person of Color Harry Potter, Studying, working together, Banter, Patronus, Bets & Wagers, Sharing Clothes, Hung Harry Potter, First Time, Sexual Inexperience, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, HP: EWE, Wandless Magic, Fluff and Humor Summary: Everything about Draco’s life since May has been one bloody long exercise in subverting everything he’s known, that’s expected of him, in an effort to get as far away from the mistakes he’s made—the wrong choices he was forced into. He’s returned to Hogwarts to take his N.E.W.T.s and everything is different—namely, Harry Potter strutting around in clingy joggers that Draco can’t get off his mind. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy Rated: Mature Words: 66713 Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil, Lack of Appetite Due to Stress, Studying, Exams, fire damage, Post-War Trauma, Scars, Injury, facial injury, Fade to Black, Slow Burn, Fire, Room of Requirement, Healing, Bubble Bath, Bisexual Harry Potter, Self-Discovery, Coming of Age, Coming Out, Friendship, marbles, Toast, Transformation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Sexual Identity, H/D Erised 2019, POV Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Sentient Hogwarts, Rebuilding Hogwarts, Apologies, Hogwarts Prefects' Bathroom, Transfiguration (Harry Potter), Patronus, Kissing, Frottage, Coming In Pants, Gay Draco Malfoy Summary: How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out. When they are drawn together to heal the castle, Harry doesn’t just find Malfoy - he also finds himself. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Love-Lines crossing by acGranger Rated: General Audiences Words: 4573 Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Divination, Palm Reading, Amortentia, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Fluff, Getting Together Summary: One Divination lesson is all it takes for Harry to become obsessed with Draco Malfoy all over again. When he notices that the Slytherin can’t produce a Patronus, Harry decides to help him, only to keep tabs on him of course. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 We Are One by orpheous87 Rated: Mature Words: 80748 Tags: Accidental Bonding, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Drarropoly: A Drarry Game/Fest, Slow Burn, Bonding, Magical Bond, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), POV Alternating, First Kiss, traumatic memories, Complete Summary: Harry and Draco haven't seen each other for two years, then suddenly they're thrust together in bizarre circumstances. Determined to make the best of a bad situation, they get on with their new way of life. Eventually, they realise that this might not be so bad. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Show Me by loveglowsinthedark Rated: Mature Words: 7355 Tags: eighth year, Patronus, Getting Together, Awkward Flirting, THEY'RE DORKS, Fluff, Harry Teaches Draco to Cast a Patronus, And like, other cute stuff happens, Gift Fic, background Ginsy Summary: “We can be friends, if you like,” he says instead, nonchalant and careless. “What I’d like,” Potter says seriously, “is to kiss you.” Draco feels his jaw drop, feels the way his hair tumbles into his eyes when he whips around to stare at Potter. “What?” he breathes. “I think I’d like to kiss you,” Potter repeats sombrely, no hint of mirth evident. “You think?” Draco says steadily, proud of himself for holding himself together. Potter’s eyebrows slide up briefly but then Draco can’t think or act or speak or breathe because Potter is leaning in and cupping his cheek gently. “I know,” Potter says simply, and kisses Draco. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Expecto Patronum by Magicaltally Rated: General Audiences Words: 1432 Tags: Cute, Romance, Fluffy, Like, super fluffy, and cute, maybe? - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Drarry, Oneshot, One Shot, Short, but not really, Love, Sweet, Patronus, Harry is a Little Shit, draco is frustrated, Happy, can be funny at times Summary: Draco is struggling to find a happy memory to produce a patronus, and Harry steps in to help. -Slash- my attempt at a fluffy oneshot! ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Potter-Malfoy School of Patronus Licensing and Identification by AhaMarimbas Rated: Teen And Up Words: 1849 Tags: Original Character(s), Patronus, working together, Draco hates his job, Draco also likes to swear Summary: The Potter-Malfoy School of Patronus Licensing and Identification Unit 69 B, 303 Diagon Alley Open Monday to Saturday, 8am to 4pm Please floo for all queries or to schedule private instruction. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Til Death, Never May We Part by carpemermaid Rated: Mature Words: 5150 Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Near Death Experiences, Dementors, Patronus, Romance, Drama, HP: EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: This was meant to be their wedding day and here they are, both dying at the hands of Dementors. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 When I Put My Eyes On You by Zzzara Rated: Explicit Words: 31160 Tags: Blindness, Blind Character, Blind Harry Potter, Disability, Physical Disability, Disabled Character, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Love, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Dorks in Love, Friendship/Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Amortentia, Potions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotions, Emotional, Emotional Roller Coaster, Pining, Pining Harry Potter, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Romantic Friendship, Best Friends, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, POV Harry Potter, Patronus, Spells & Enchantments, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Jealousy, Jealous Harry Potter, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Spin the Bottle, Halloween, Party, Party Games, Mistletoe, Kissing, Surprise Kissing, Boys Kissing, Rough Kissing, Drunken Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Boys In Love, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, First Time, Explicit Sexual Content, Sex, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Emotional Sex, Awkward First Times, Sleeping Together, Literal Sleeping Together, Dancing, Showers, Masturbation in Shower, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Dreams, Fantasizing, Desire, Self-Esteem Issues, Substance Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Lights Camera Drarry 2020, Lights Camera Drarry, LCDrarry, LCD - Freeform, The Way he looks, film inspired, Self-Prompt, Healing Summary: When a hero defeats a villain, there's supposed to be a happily-ever-after... but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew. When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there's more to it than the eye can see? A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes. ❤️ Read on AO3

#patronus #patronus charm #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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mimiri22-6 · 4 years

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I JUST FOUND OUT BEE AND PUPPYCAT HAD A SECOND SEASON! GUESS WHAT I JUST FINISHED WATCHING!

Oh my fucking god holy shit, my guys! This show. This fucking show. Where do I even start! First off

SPOILERS!!!!!!

YOU DO NOT WANT TO WALK INTO THIS SEASON, THIS SHOW, WITH SPOILERS! DO NOT FUCKING LOOK, THIS IS 1000% SPOILER TERRITORY!!!

So I will be taking the extra step of taking my laptop out, and continuing this on there(and after I wake up because it's 4am and I regret absolutely NONE of this whatsoever because, guys, I love this show with everything I have left to my being, I swear, I will die for a third season)

Warning: This is a long one.

OKOKOKOK! I know I know! It’s been uh...A Month since I first posted this! BUT I am Here Now and Ready!!! I am less than 10 seconds into the first episode of season 2 and I am already So Ready to relive this!!(Dream SMP has Nothing on this show, God I Love This Show Far Too Much!!!!!!)

...First ten minutes...I have So Much I want to say...Just-just a lot of love...

okokokokokokokokokok!!!!!! I think I know how I’m going to do this now! One bullet for each episode! Let’s see if I stick with it.

Gentle Touch

In the first episode we already get a big game changer for Bee and her development. Bee becoming more responsible as a favor for Deckard. He asks her to take care of his family while he’s at cooking school and we already see her doing this. Going out to the ocean with Weasley, going out of her comfort zone for people she’s practically family to, which is why we got the beginning flashback, once again going out of her comfort zone to stop Puppycat from punching kittens, And Finally, coming out from her nap cupboard to face Howl and help pay for bills by eating ugly food.

Little Fingers

Ooh, this one has foreshadowing dream sequence. I would say more about it if it had more significance, but it’s really just what happens to Bee in the last ep. This episode brings more of Bee being responsible, trying to take her phone away from Puppycat so he stops making bad purchases. This episode made me realize what Puppycat’s role is this season, the child. Or something among those lines. He’s the same as he was last season, but it seems/is a bit more exaggerated because Bee isn’t doing the same things anymore. She’s started to care about consequences. And speaking about consequences, Toast announces she’s pregnant while confirming that she’s been staying...in Cass’s room(?)...weird, but ok, and by Tim pointing and Merlin’s reaction, it’s Merlin’s...but also everyone else seemed like they thought they were the culprit and I don’t want to think about the implications of that....MOVING ON-OH WAIT, And Cardamon’s mom is spouting magic tears that messes with the plants, so there’s that.

Snow and Violets

I’m going to be honest, I’m not 100% sure what to put here and I’m loosing steam. (I’ve been awake since 3 am...) But I think I can put something. The situation with Mr. Cup is the definition of being haunted by your past. The guilt and regret of cheating in the past has made him lose his motivation to give it his all in racing because, what’s the point? Motivation and not caring was his norm, so he just stuck with it. Until Bee, and now he can be a rainbow and sleep with less guilt and regret on his conscience. The thing with the island rapidly changing could be one of three things. Something to do with the ship that Is the island, a metaphor for change, or something really cool the creators just wanted.

Day off Work

Not Too much to note for this ep overall. Puppycat totally did do the ‘wrecking the house in search for the owner’ thing dogs do. Finally, a dog trait! Every time I see Cardamon now I just get sad cause he’s 7, and should Not be doing landlord stuff. Bee showing worry about how Cardamon’s mom is still asleep and being worried about Cardamon himself, I’m just glad someone’s noticing. I keep forgetting that some people haven’t watched the pilot so they don’t know about Puppycat being a Space Outlaw, so when he found all his stuff under the apartment I was less surprised and more excited. The two last things I want to say is I think it’s interesting/cool/intriguing how the Wizard family just takes every weird thing either in stride, unquestioningly, or ignorance. Just trying to pretend it didn’t happen so they don’t have to deal with it(other than Crispin, but he’s coming up). And the last thing I just want to bring to light is CARDAMON BEING SO CUTE IN THE LAST SCENE! JUST BEING A CHILD! AND LAUGHING WITH HIS DOG! ON A FUNNY CHAIR! I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR AND I WILL PROTECT THAT SMILE WITH MY WHOLE BEING!!!

My Favorite

Note, Pretty Patrick is also The Mayor. Alright. It’s definitely been a few months and you can see the relationship between Howl and Bee has gotten better, not that it was too bad to begin with, just a bit less peeved on Howl’s end. The theme of Bee being responsible is brought into play again with the train station scene. Telling Puppycat to not hit and the way Puppycat was acting around Patrick. All little kid stuff. Which also kind of clashes with what I thought was Puppycat being older than Bee by a lot, I’m honestly slowly getting more and more confused exactly how I should perceive Puppycat. THE FIRST REAL LOOK AT THE HAND GUYS! I’m still not sure what their deals are, but they have a corpse on their hands and that is already the biggest red flag. I have a guess as to what/who they are in relation to Puppycat and, by acquaintance, Bee, but I could be wrong, but I also can’t think of any other people they may be. I’ll bring it back up either the next time we see them or at the end.

Did You Remember

Grampa Puppycat cares about his granddaughter a whole lot. Don’t @ me, their dynamic is more confusing than a moving maze...Now this episode, ooh boy, it feels like a lot, but in a minimal way? First off, Cardamon finally breaks down about the stress of being a 7 year old landlord and Bee takes care of him for the day. Big Sis Bee For The Win! DON’T @ ME I MAKE UP MY OWN FAMILY DYNAMICS!!! Kind of continuing from the first sentence, Puppycat and Bee love each other(I Stand By Platonically For Them) so much already, for them it’s been a little over a year considering Puppycat fell into Bee’s life before her last birthday and now they’re celebrating another one. And I must admit, I can not for the life of me figure out wtf the deal is with the tears. They have little shapes of recent events in them and they make plants weird/straight up just make life! Like, What Even Is That?! Also, Cardamon finally gets a good sleep.

Bird Friend

Ok, so we got more ship pieces, a most likely reason as to why Puppycat was Like That in the last few episodes of season 1 and has been goopy every now and again in this season. Apparently eating things he shouldn’t eat make him Extremely off model and goopy. More hands! But not the rest of them this time around. I wonder if Sticky’s hunt for all the birds has any significance other than showing us another piece. Puppycat breaking down and spilling a few secrets after stress eating off the floor and Bee immediately saying no to someone else telling her what’s wrong with Puppycat and letting him come to her first instead of forcing him is always such a good lesson to have. Also, Cass is into weirdly shaped shiny things.

Two Clown Noses

Ah, it’s this one. The one that Really throws a wrench into the Bee/Deckard ship. THEY’RE BOTH SO CUTE! I CAN’T CHOOSE!!! This entire episode is just Crispin and Bee hanging out with the added angst of the beginning ‘story’. This world is full of such amazingly crazy characters and Crispin’s backstory is one of those crazier ones. Bee and him Lived Together and Know Each Other, he knows she’s a robot! My only question is, what happened that they broke up? WAIT- DID THEY EVEN BREAK UP?! It would be weird if they weren’t because they were living together and then they decide to live separate again would make no sense. I think I just jumped to the weirdest conclusion...Anyway! How would Puppycat get sick? I feel like that was just another thing they added to create different dynamics. The beginning birthday thing and the conclusion felt so real even though the cause was something so out there that I feel like only animated shows like this could pass, but also I feel like someone out there has done something similar, so what do I know. Yeah, not much else about this episode, it was mostly just Bee/Crispin stuff and character stuff. Gosh they’re so cute...but so is Bee/Deckard. Being a multishipper is hard...

Funny Lying

RIGHT! THEY’RE CALLED THE WARLOCKS! THAT’S THE TITLE I WAS FORGETTING! Tim knows everyone’s secrets, comes with the perk of having a lot of time and not talking much, you observe everyone else while they think you’re doing something else. I know from experience. Eavesdropping is a specialty of mine. SHIT THIS IS THE ONE WHERE CASS GETS THE MESSAGE DISSING HER FOR FALLING FOR TOAST FROM A COWORKER! I caught those vibes during the first season, but then the first half of this season came along and I was forced to drop those vibes in favor of cannon because TOAST WAS PREGOS WITH ONE OF CASS’S BROTHER’S KIDS! I’m good at catching gay vibes in fictional worlds, but I’m shit in the real world, just like everything else. And the thing is, we don’t get Any kind of explanation/closure for the entire rest of the season! We see Toast totally shocked reaction, probably moments before she was going to sneak attack Cass, but froze upon seeing that text. AND WE GET NOTHING ABOUT THAT FOR THE REST OF THE SEASON! Anyway, that was only like 2 minutes into the ep, this is taking forever. We got more Bee being responsible for Cardamon and getting rid of the tears, but the biggest part of this episode is undoubtedly Puppycat’s scenes. We got him sinking to the bottom of the ocean and getting cradled by flowers created by the tears next to the ship. We find out he was bullied and ridiculed in school as a kid and his best friend(idk what else they would be counted as), Violet, convinced him to leave their planet after they accidently summon their ship, leaving Puppycat’s mother behind. seeing how he cried about leaving her she seems to have been a great caretaker and he loved her immensely. We get the scene of Bee’s dad as a baby/Very young child on a mission, giving a presentation, and finding the candy to be a source of energy by cracking it open. Making me think, ‘Is that Bee’s fuel source? If it is, how would not taking full doses for two years effect her?’ because in the first season she splits the candy in half to share with Puppycat and in this season she didn’t eat the candy at all. Makes me even more worried for the future knowing what state she’s in when this season ends. With the last flower fever dream/memory it seems that the princess that he fell in love with was the one to make the final move to turning him into a ‘monster.’ Don’t worry tho, Bee saved him from the bottom of the ocean

Golden Eyes

(I’m getting more and more tired as this goes one. I started doing this at around 12 this morning and now it’s nearing 6 pm. I’m loosing it!) We got another birthday and it’s Howl’s this time, though it’s not really his episode. The fish are attracted to the wish crystals for some reason and one eats a bit of it to be ‘human’ for a day. I love how the fish hated being a human and Weasley didn’t even notice it was a date. I don’t know if it was or not, but ending on that was funny. We got the return of the major douche from the season 1 finally and a mention of Moully.

Why Don’t You Help Me?

(I took a break between episodes, aka I went tf to sleep, because I was falling asleep at the table and not really processing everything enough for what I’m trying to do) Ok, so this is a day in the life of Cardamon episode with supposed parelles to the Warlocks. We start with the red one stuck and the others unwilling to help...and then they start drawing Puppycat’s face on the 5th one’s corpse and these guys just do not care that it’s a dead body that they supposedly killed themselves. In short, they have all my fear because they are uncaring about body counts. Cardamon still goes to school on top of being a self proclaimed landlord and gets made fun of for being responsible and tattling at every chance he gets. Something I just noticed too is, at first I just assumed he was finally getting tired after being an adult in a child’s body for who knows how long, but now I’m thinking if he’s supposed to be asleep with Violet, his mom, then the reason for him being so tired is being awake too long. It could most likely be both, too. Just like Cardamon, I have no idea what all the tears mean. In the most recent one was see Moully as the charm in the center. What’s the pattern with these? Again we see Bee being responsible and taking care of Cardamon, making sure he gets home safe, tucking him in, and pulling an all night favor so he can sleep and get to school in the morning. Speaking of that, I can’t say I like Cardamon’s teachers all that much. I could rant about them, but this is already long and they’re not worth it. My only real question is, why the hell are their clothes so ragged and dirty? Do they not know how to bathe? Just, WTF? (either that or they’re Really not trying to hide their *ahem* activities from the kids, which just makes me want to punch sense into them or something)

Now I’m Really Alone

MOULLY!!!! Sorry, I just love him a lot. From what I can put together, he’s some kind of gift giving being. Giving wishes, exchanging good deeds and quick favors for other good deeds and favors. Just being Really nice and wanting to help everyone he comes across. This episode makes me see so much in common between Bee and Moully. They both want to help even when they don’t know how. Making messes and finding ways clean up those messes out of guilt and the feeling of obligation. They both have lost things they need to pick up and the knowledge that they have all the time in the world because they’ve both been alive for so long. It keeps getting hinted, but now kind of confirmed, that the Wizard’s know Bee is Weird because they haven’t seen her age. Hell, seeing how she interacts with Cardamon she could have even baby sat them. So all the Wizard’s know she’s Weird and, supposedly, only Crispin knew she was a robot. That was until Deckard found out in the season 1 finally. Once again bringing up the point of people in the Wizard family finding something out and ignoring it and hiding it. In the season 1 finally, Tim asked Cass if Deckard wasn’t depressed anymore, practically saying that Deckard has some form of depression. Depression being a mental illness that runs in families, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that some other members of the family have similar problems. One of the things I remember depression doing is the person will see a problem and ignore it. Something that many people in this show do with the weirdness around them and the emotional states/situations of the other people in the show. This season is about finally seeing the thing you’ve been ignoring and doing something about it. And that’s what Bee’s been doing this season, taking charge and finally getting her junk out of the ocean and getting REALLY far out of her comfort zone. She HATES water and the ocean, but she’s diving in to take back what’s hers and cleaning up a mess. There’s A Lot to analyze with this episode, the similarities of Moully’s and Bee’s situations and personalities, Puppycat being the responsible one again for the long run of things, the tears and how the wish crystals work, and the state of multiple character’s minds. Ignorance is bliss until it isn’t.

I Won’t Leave You Alone

Ok, SO MANY NOTES! Which makes sense seeing how it’s the last episode. First off, THOSE WARLOCK BASTDARDS VIOLATED MOULLY AND IF THEY WERE REAL I WOULD THROTLE THEM TILL THEIR HEADS POPPED OFF!!! I am a very protective person when it comes to things I care about. And I’m going to say it here and now incase something comes up of it, Cooking Prince gives be Colorful Vibes, if you know what I mean. You don’t follow someone home and bother them when they don’t want to be bothered unless you’re Into into them. That’s all I’m saying and if nothing comes of it, I will drop it. I’m barely hanging onto it to begin with. So, last episode we watched one of three hands punching the other hands to let Moully go, and in this episode it’s confirmed that the day Moully was pulled through the void, the 5th warlock died. My theory with that is, the 5th one was against getting Puppycat in some way and retaliated by fighting them off of Moully and then the others retaliated by killing them in some way. And the tears in this episode didn’t give life to the corpse, but grew new life over top of it, the tears can’t bring the dead back. The ship gets put back together and we see Puppycat being pretty selfish again, bringing the ship online while Bee gets scooped trying to help Moully. He indirectly helped, but only after he got what he wanted. Cooking Prince, an outsider, brings up how everything going on on the island is Weird and Cass celebrates someone acknowledging it. Once again, bringing back the ‘ignorance is bliss until it’s not’ thing going on around here. Cardamon does more childish things this episode, making a wish and crying in his mother’s arms. He got to finally let go of his responsibilities and let it out until he passed out, and now he gets to sleep again. Moully and Bee are out of commission and the Wizard’s+Cooking Prince stay one the island/ship to be with Bee even though they are mostly confused about EVERYTHING going on rn. Bee has multiple Bees now while she’s out, and so, they go looking for Bee’s dad. I have a feeling he has at least some white hairs by now.

I remember watching this season for the first time. I remember I definitely cried at multiple points, but I can’t exactly remember what points now. I didn’t cry this time, I was too busy taking everything in and trying to put what little pieces I could find together. The first season was to get us used to this world and get comfortable for a chill ride, but then it smacks you in the face with something much bigger at the very end. This season was to make you pay more attention and to question your surroundings. It was also about the first steps to taking charge of your life. If Bee didn’t do all the responsible things she did this season, the warlocks would have probably gotten Puppycat while the island went to shambles. Actions have consequences and that’s what this was about. I believe next season is why ‘Lazy in Space’ was the title. The characters are going to be in space, looking for Bee’s dad, and will acknowledge all the weird things going on while developing, excuse the pun, in out of this world ways.

I can’t wait for season 3.

#bee and puppycat #this show is fucking amazing #it is worth the loss of sleep time and work #bee and puppycat spoilers #season 2 spoilers #bee and puppycat season 2 #bee and puppycat season 2 spoilers #now I usually tag every character that I mention but that would be imposable at this point #show review #season review #I love this show lots #it deserves all the love it can get #(I'll rb with the link I used but I'll only tag it minimally just incase)

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daemour · 3 years

Text

Title: Find You

Genre: Angst, Fluff, a ‘lil Smut

Pairing: Jinyoung x Jaebeom, minor Jinyoung x Youngjae, for 5 seconds a side of Ten x Yugyeom

Summary: Jinyoung’s kinda a dumbass. Jaebeom’s even more of a dumbass, but he’s also kind of an asshole (in the best way possible.)

Warnings: Jinyoung suxxs a dick; the smut scene is just under 600 words out of 13k

Word count: 13482

CRIS CRIS CRIS @limjaeseven I LOVE YOU!! thanks for all the stuff you do for me; i hope this can somehow repay it!! :)))))) love you broskiiiiiii lets hope for many great times~! also heres ur dumb gays :)))) <3333

I struggled with this A L O T so i hope you guys like it owo~

When Jinyoung walked out of his room and saw Jaebeom in the kitchen, that wasn’t unusual. The older one did tend to use the spare key whenever he didn’t want to cook. What was unusual, however, was the fact that Jaebeom had no shirt on.

As much as Jinyoung would like to ogle Jaebeom’s fine ass, he had more questions than wishes. “Hyung? What are you doing?” Jaebeom spun around, a sheepish smile on his face, and Jinyoung repeated the mantra, don’t look at tiddies, don’t look at tiddies over and over to himself. It’s a hard battle, and Jinyoung lost it almost immediately. Jaebeom was amused.

“My eyes are up here, Nyoungie. Not on my nipples.” Jinyoung would like the floor to swallow him up, please. “Anyways; I left my keys at home when I went to work, but I found your keys in my car. I left them in there by accident,” Jaebeom explained, laughing. “I borrowed your couch if that’s fine.”

Yes, that’s so fine. Always fine. You could even use my bed. With me still in it, of course. “Yeah, go ahead. Next time, just text me. I have your spare set of keys, remember?” Jaebeom’s mouth opened, and Jinyoung could tell he forgot.

“Yeah.” Jaebeom drew out the diphthong and smiled. “Do you want breakfast?”

“God, yes please,” Jinyoung groans. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver. God, you’re literally the perfect boyfriend.”

Jaebeom offers a sheepish smile, leaning across the counter and poking Jinyoung in the cheek affectionately. “Not perfect, but I made rice pudding and toast.” He slid a plate across to Jinyoung, who thanked him gratefully. “I’ll be out of your hair then.” He started to leave when Jinyoung frowned.

“Where’s your shirt?”

Jaebeom shrugged.

“I don’t know; I think some girl at the club stole it when I spilt a drink on myself and went to wipe it off.” The older left without another word, and Jinyoung could feel his heart hurt. He forgot Jaebeom was painfully straight, and that he was painfully gay. He was once again reminded that his crush was indeed one-sided. And yes, his crush did just walk out of his door with no shirt on.

When Jinyoung used to think he was straight, he remembered feeling romantic feelings towards Jaebeom and passing it off as wanting to be best friends forever. And now that he knew for sure he’s into boys, he found out the hard way that best friends just wasn’t what he wanted to be. But that couldn’t be helped. Jaebeom would never want to be with him, and Jinyoung would just have to suffer.

Alas, he couldn’t wallow in self-pity today. His brother, Yugyeom, was flying in with his best friend BamBam, and Jinyoung had to go pick them up. He pulled on some clothes he knew would only just barely match, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door. He’s going to be early, so he would stop in a coffee shop near the airport and pick up some drinks.

The coffee shop, Ars Coffee, was busy, but not too busy that Jinyoung would be late, so he stepped in and waited in line. As he looked around the cute shop decorated in pictures of puppies and kittens, he noticed a corner of the shop that reminded him of the first time he had met Jaebeom. The older had been frantically studying and Jinyoung was hustling to find an open seat, tripping over Jaebeom’s backpack and landing in the older’s lap. The older had delivered the line, “you’re not my type, but nice ass,” and the two ended up talking until the shop closed. They exchanged numbers, and the rest was history.

However, Jinyoung was brought back to the present with an ‘ahem’ coming from behind the counter. It’s his turn to order. “Ah- yes, sorry. I’ll take a vanilla latte, an iced choco, and an iced Americano.” The barista laughed, his smile too wide for his face, and marked down the order.

“I hope all that isn’t for you. That’s a lot of sugar, not to mention caffeine.”

Jinyoung smiled back. “Who knows? I could be a college student frantically studying for last-minute exams.”

The barista, Youngjae judging by the nametag, laughed again. “The second semester just ended; you’d be on break. So I’ll just assume you’re apologising to your three girlfriends since they just found out you’ve been double- no, triple-timing them.”

“Boyfriends,” Jinyoung corrects without thinking, and then his head snapped up, eyes wide. “What I mean is- I don’t- I-”

Youngjae offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s all right. I am too,” he reassured, adding that last bit in a lowered voice. “That will be 9,321 won. Which drink is yours?”

Jinyoung fished the bills out of his back pocket, offering it to Youngjae who returned the change.

“Mine is the vanilla latte,” Jinyoung answered, stepping to the side to let the next person come forward to order, and waited patiently. After a few people from ahead of him received their drinks, he saw Youngjae prepare his three drinks, and he felt a twinge of guilt when he realised Youngjae was the only employee at the store.

When he moved to pick up the drinks, he opened his mouth to offer apologies for ordering such a long list of drinks. However, Youngjae rushed off before he even could, just to tend to another customer. Jinyoung left, and when pulling out his drink, noticed a “call me, 2-747-5143 - Choi Youngjae” messily scrawled right under the drink’s label. Cute. He input the number into his phone and took off for the airport.

He’s running late; the coffee shop took longer than he thought, and Jinyoung rushed into the terminal Yugyeom had texted him. He saw his brother, slouching as always, with BamBam, just as skinny, standing up straight next to him. At least his friend had good posture; Jinyoung had been trying to fix his brother’s bad habit for years. “Yah, Kim Yugyeom, straighten up!”

Yugyeom’s head jerked up, and a smile spread across his face. “Hyung!” The tallest bounded over, BamBam following, and enveloped Jinyoung in a tight hug. “How are you?”

Jinyoung laughed. “You act like you haven’t lived with me for twenty-four years. I’m doing well. How are you, Yugyeom, BamBam?” Yugyeom, as expected, immediately launched into a monologue about how his time in Thailand with BamBam’s family was. The fact that he didn’t really like durian was the only bit that stuck in Jinyoung’s head. But he didn’t mind; as much as he would never admit it to anyone’s face, he did miss his younger sibling. Jaebeom just didn’t fill in the gaps Yugyeom had left.

“Hyung, hyung, hyung, did you hear?” Jinyoung snapped his head toward the younger. The younger was telling him something but as mentioned, Jinyoung wasn’t really listening.

“Sorry, Gyeom, what is it?”

“Jaebeom hyung’s roommate is coming as well, you know? Jackson Wang? From when Jaebeom hyung studied in Hong Kong.” Ah. Jinyoung remembered the loud kid he met when he visited Jaebeom during their summer break three years ago. The memory that stood out the most was Jackson immediately declared himself Jinyoung’s best friend. It would be nice to see him again, Jinyoung guessed, but it’s sad Jaebeom would be spending more time with Jackson and Jinyoung instead of just Jinyoung.

Wait, what the hell was he doing?

Has he really gotten so deep into his crush that he’s trying to break off Jaebeom’s friendships? Jinyoung tonks his head on the steering wheel.

“Hyung?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…forgot how to drive.” Jinyoung came up with the lamest excuse, and Yugyeom stared at him for a second.

“Are you drunk?”

Instead of gracing him with an answer, Jinyoung started the car and stepped on it (as much was deemed safe).

Yugyeom cackled in his ear, and the oldest of the three aimed a slap on Yugyeom’s chest.

“There are drinks in the back for you,” Jinyoung said, and Yugyeom went for the latte. Before Jinyoung could stop him, Yugyeom noticed the message. To Jinyoung’s relief, however, the younger didn’t mention it, only raising an eyebrow and glancing at Jinyoung’s side profile.

“Hyung, how’s Jaebeom hyung doing?” BamBam broke the silence.

“Jaebeom hyung? He’s doing fine. Same old same old. Doing whatever he pleases. He went to a club yesterday and ended up half-naked on my couch and left to go who knows where and I’m definitely not suffering from an unrequited crush on him. Can’t he just not be so blatantly straight? I’m literally dying because he can’t handle not being hot every second of the day.” With each word that came out of Jinyoung’s mouth, his pitch rose.

BamBam and Yugyeom were quiet for the rest of the ride, and Jinyoung refrained from jumping out of the car lest they would crash. They finally pulled up to the building, and BamBam left the tense atmosphere as quickly as he could. Yugyeom ready to leave, turned to Jinyoung, opened and closed his mouth as if deciding on what to say. “Hyung…maybe you should go on that date.” With that final sentence, Yugyeom exits as well, leaving Jinyoung in the car to ponder over when his life suddenly turned into such a mess.

After concluding his life became a mess once he was born, Jinyoung headed inside to find Yugyeom and BamBam had already made themselves at home and were currently trying to set up the ancient Wii.

“Have you two unpacked already? That was fast.” Jinyoung commented, unimpressed, and Yugyeom looked up at him.

“Yeah, we unpacked…”

“…the Wii.” BamBam finished Yugyeom’s answer and Jinyoung raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Go unpack and then play Wii. I don’t want to trip over any of your bags.” Yugyeom groaned but got up obediently and BamBam followed like a good friend. Once they disappeared from sight, Jinyoung headed into his own room, with the coffee cup from Ars.

Jinyoung plopped down on his bed and opened the contacts on his phone. He stares at the number on the cup. After a moment of deliberation, he inputs it into his phone, saving the contact as ‘Ars - Choi Youngjae” and stares at the empty profile before finally tapping on “message.” He waited again, then sighed, throwing his phone onto the bed and leaving to get something to eat. Youngjae was still probably working and Jinyoung didn’t want to bother him.

Once Yugyeom and BamBam finished unpacking, they, predictably, connected the Wii and coerced (read: threatened) Jinyoung to join them in a Mario Kart championship.

In the middle of Rainbow Road, the door unlocked, and Jinyoung forfeited Yoshi to answer the door. Jaebeom and Jackson stood behind the door, and Jinyoung paused for a minute before letting them in. “Jackson! It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

Jackson grinned, slapping Jinyoung on the back.

“Hey, Park Gae!” God, Jinyoung forgot about the cute nickname Jackson gave him back in Hong Kong. Jackson waited expectantly, and Jinyoung sighed.

“Sorry. Wang Gae, it’s good to see you again. How have you been?” Jinyoung complied.

“I’m doing well; I’ve actually recently gotten a job here teaching fencing, so I’ll be seeing you guys more often!” Oh. Jinyoung didn’t think Jackson would be staying for that long.

“Hyungs!” Yugyeom finally got up from the couch, having beaten BamBam by a hair and Jinyoung by a mile. Jaebeom grinned endearingly as always, hooking an arm around Yugyeom’s neck and ruffling his hair. “Jaebeom hyung, don’t mess up my hair!”

“What, are you trying to impress the ladies?” Jaebeom teased, and Jinyoung stiffened slightly.

“Yugyeom, have you been trying to impress any ladies-“

Jinyoung started to narrow his eyes, and Yugyeom squawked, pulling himself out of Jaebeom’s grip.

“What- No!” Glancing at Jinyoung’s unwavering glare, Yugyeom immediately looked away and up.

“Kim Yugyeom.”

“Really! Seriously, hyung, no way! No girls.” Yugyeom whined. “I haven’t!” He emphasized the last word.

“No girls?” Jaebeom took this opportunity to tease him further. “What about guys? Any hot men in Thailand who caught your interest?”

Yugyeom glanced back at BamBam, and Jinyoung caught the sly movement.

“There are?” Jinyoung almost screamed, feeling like he might die. His baby brother? Having a crush? Unheard of. Yugyeom had always put dancing first, rejecting everyone. “Who? I must protect my baby brother from them!”

Jackson laughed. “Protect him from them? More like the other way around-“ Yugyeom smacked Jackson on the back.

“Hyung!” The fake tension was eased, and Jinyoung grinned at his brother, ready as always to tease.

“So? Who is it? Do I know him?”

“Well-“ Yugyeom started, and Jinyoung’s jaw dropped. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?” Jinyoung frowns.

“He’s coming to Korea next week to study dance like I am. You’ll meet him then! Ten hyung is a year older, and BamBam knows him.” The Thai friend nodded.

“He’s a year older? Yugyeom, you’re into older men?” Jaebeom gasped in mock shock, and Yugyeom cackled, shoving the older lightly.

“Hyung, what the hell? He’s only a year older, not like Jinyoung and his young barista love.” Eyes turned to Jinyoung, who immediately began to smack Yugyeom.

“Kim Yugyeom-“

“What’s this about your young barista love?” Jackson was immediately interested.

“He’s not- I’m- How do you know he’s young?” Jinyoung stammered out.

Yugyeom cackled. “Choi Youngjae from Ars Coffee Shop? He tutors me in piano. He’s two years younger than you.” Jinyoung’s mouth dropped open.

God, this was mortifying. Jaebeom’s laughter brought him out of his funk, however. The older man (only by six months, Jackson liked to stress) slapped Jinyoung on the back. “Good for you, Nyoung! You’re finally going for your mans!”

Jinyoung choked something akin to ‘God, I hate you all’ and Yugyeom cackled at his older brother’s misery. However, he noticed Jinyoung’s pained look, and Jaebeom’s hand on his brother’s back, and quieted. “Jaebeom hyung,” the youngest called, “can you play Mario Kart with me? Jinyoung hyung sucks, and I beat BamBam. I wanna play you since you’re basically a grandpa.”

Jaebeom fell for the bait, hook line and sinker, glowering and grabbing the remote BamBam handed him. “All right, brat. Let’s go.”

Jinyoung almost heaved a breath of release and moved to the kitchen to get some water. BamBam followed him, and Jackson sat to watch Yugyeom and Jaebeom compete.

“Hyung-“ BamBam hissed, and Jinyoung tried to ignore him. But BamBam was nothing but persistent. “Hyung, why do you do this to yourself? It’s only hurting you, and in the long run, hurting Jaebeom hyung. This can only end up in two ways. Either you draw away from hyung when it gets too much, and both you and Jaebeom hyung get hurt; you both lose a good friend. Or you don’t and Jaebeom hyung finds out on his own. He’s going to feel bad, Jinyoung hyung. Guilty; he’s going to hate himself. You need to stop this.”

“You think I don’t know?” Jinyoung almost yelled but restrained himself. “God, BamBam, I love him, yes, but he’s also my best friend. I don’t want to just tell him, ‘Hey, I have a crush on you, I need you to never talk to me’, that will just make him sad as well. My best bet is to go out with Youngjae and try to forget.”

BamBam frowned. “Hyung, if you don’t then Youngjae-ssi will get hurt too.” Jinyoung sighed, dropping his head onto the counter. “You don’t have to leave him forever.”

“I know. But it’s not something I want to do. Call me jealous-”

“Am I interrupting something?” Jinyoung turned his head to face Jackson, standing in the kitchen doorway awkwardly. BamBam looked at Jinyoung, who shrugged.

“Might as well tell him, Bam,” Jinyoung sighed. “It’s pointless to hide it.”

Jackson was still confused and Jinyoung was still moping, so BamBam took it upon himself to save them from their misery. Or at least, just explain. After doing so, Jackson’s mouth is agape. “Damn, are you living in a k-drama or something? That’s insane, man.”

Jinyoung almost rolled his eyes, but he’s too tired to do so. Instead, he just got up, drank a glass of water, and smiled tightly at Jackson. “Yeah. I think I’ll go to bed early. Eat whatever, or order something. Don’t let Yugyeom cook.”

As he trudged back into his room, Jaebeom, having just been defeated by Yugyeom, glanced up and saw his best friend leave. “Yugyeom, play against Jackson, okay? I need to ask Jinyoung something. Sounds good?” Yugyeom nodded, engrossed in the game, and Jackson came to play for Jaebeom.

“Jinyoungie, I’m coming in, all right?” Jaebeom knocked gently on his best friend’s door, and he can hear a muffled groan. Jaebeom opened the door and saw Jinyoung lying face down in the bed. “Jinyoungie, what’s wrong?”

“Nuthin’,” Jinyoung mumbled, turning his head off the pillow and away from the door.

“That doesn’t look like nothing, Jinyoung.” The older sighed, stepping forward and sitting in Jinyoung’s desk chair. “Is something the matter?”

Jinyoung didn’t respond, and just pulled a blanket over his head and rolled over some more, enough to wrap himself up like a mummy. Jaebeom sighed again, shifting the chair closer until he’s almost right next to the bed. Jinyoung didn’t move, so Jaebeom reached out and smoothed Jinyoung’s hair. “Hyung-”

Jaebeom’s heart leaps into his chest. He had never heard Jinyoung sound so pitiful ever since the younger had broken his knee cap in middle school. “Jinyoung? What’s wrong?”

“Hyung, I think maybe you should leave me alone.”

With those words, Jaebeom’s heart dropped. Never had he thought he would ever hear Jinyoung say that. Through thick and thin, the two had always stuck together. It was just two years ago Jaebeom found Jinyoung crying alone in his closet and seeing Jinyoung like this again made Jaebeom hurt. He ignores Jinyoung, moving to sit on the bed instead, and wraps an arm around Jinyoung. “Nyoung, I won’t make you talk to me, all right? But I don’t want to leave you alone, and I’ll sit and stay in here. I don’t want you to hurt alone.”

He lay beside Jinyoung, enveloping the younger in his arms, blanket burrito and all, and listened to Jinyoung’s breathing heightened…and then fell as the younger fell asleep.

As much as it hurt Jaebeom to see his best friend like this, he didn’t know what he did hurt Jinyoung more.

When Jinyoung woke, he knew Jaebeom was still there, feeling the older’s arms caressing his arms subconsciously. God, why is Jaebeom like this? Nice one minute and then the next running out the door to meet some girls.

He carefully slid out from between Jaebeom’s arms and adjusted the sheets to cover Jaebeom. As he tiptoed out of his room, he came face to face with Yugyeom, wringing his hands. “Gyeom?” he whispered, “What is it?”

“Hyung-“ Yugyeom was obviously distressed. Jinyoung reached up to brush his bangs out of hair. “ hyung, are you mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad, baby?”

“I’m gay.“ Jinyoung almost laughed, if not for the look on Yugyeom’s face.

“Baby, I’d never be mad. Look at me and my gayness. Why on Earth would I be mad?” Yugyeom shrugged, still obviously worried. “The only thing I’m unhappy about is the fact you didn’t tell me. But not at you, Gyeom-ah. I’m just worried I failed something as your brother.”

Yugyeom shook his head. “No, hyung. Of course not. You’re the best big brother I could wish for.”

Jinyoung laughed. “Maybe you should get upset more often. I could get used to hearing that.” Yugyeom finally smiled, shoving his brother lightly.

“Hyung, don’t be a dumbass. Come on, let’s eat.” Jinyoung’s mouth dropped open in fake annoyance.

“Yah, respect your elders. Brat.” Jinyoung patted his pockets, before realizing he accidentally left his phone inside the room. He almost groaned audibly, before turning around and opening the door as quietly as he could.

However, that was unnecessary as Jaebeom had already woken, and was seated on the bed and rubbing his eyes. “Hey, hyung,” Jinyoung greeted him almost casually but got the words out slightly too fast.

“Jinyoung, you know you can always talk to me, right?” God, Jinyoung did not want to get into this talk.

“Hyung, I know. I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Jinyoung sighed. “Maybe one of these days I will, but not right now. Have you seen my phone?”

Jaebeom, knowing that the conversation was over, nodded. “Yeah, it’s on the bed. You were sleeping on top of it.” Jaebeom grabbed it, but before handing it to Jinyoung, smirked. “I texted Youngjae for you.”

“You what?” Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “Hyung, come on. I was going to get to it.” Jaebeom frowned.

“Really? I distinctly remember multiple times you almost failed a class because you “going to get back to your superiors,” Jinyoung.”

“Hyung, seriously. Maybe school was something, but this is my own business. Stop poking your nose into it. I’ll text Youngjae if I want to, and if I forget, I forget.” Jinyoung rolled his eyes, and Jaebeom’s temper flared.

“Yah, respect your elders, Park Jinyoung. I just wanted you to get out and talk to people. All you do is stay in here all day or work.”

“I’ll respect you once you respect my personal affairs, Jaebeom. And are you saying I’m not exciting because I like to stay inside? Jaebeom, come on. Don’t be daft.”

“I’m just saying-” Jaebeom raised his hands in mock surrender “-going out is fun. It’s an experience.”

“Im Jaebeom, just because you sleep around like a whore-“ Jinyoung slapped his mouth closed, eyes widening, and Jaebeom got up. He was mad. “Hyung, I didn’t mean it.” Jaebeom ignored him, brushing past Jinyoung’s shoulder and leaving the room immediately. Jinyoung sank down onto the floor and almost curses.

He lay there for who knows how long, or at least until his stomach growled, and BamBam pokes his head in. “Jinyoung hyung, are you all right? Jaebeom left in a huff thirty minutes ago and Jackson followed him. What happened?”

“I called him a whore, BamBam. I’m so stupid.” Jinyoung whined, slapping himself. “God, I’m such a dumbass.”

BamBam sighed. “Hyung, what did Jaebeom do? You don’t usually get this angry.”

“It wasn’t his fault-“ Jinyoung tried to defend, but BamBam shook his head.

“It was your own fault you said that, but he must have provoked you.” Jinyoung just groaned, patting the space next to him and BamBam joined him as the older man explained.

Sometime in the middle, Yugyeom joined in and Jinyoung had to explain all over again, getting almost choked up. “Hyung, I think you both were in the wrong. Jaebeom should have let you do your own thing. He’s not that much older than you, and even if he was, you’re an adult,” Yugyeom said.

“When did you two get so wise?” Jinyoung laughed wetly.

BamBam cackled, loud and clear as day. “We’re only wise when it comes to someone else’s affairs. Ours? Not so much. You should’ve seen Yugyeom flail in front of Ten hyung.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrow rose sky-high. “That’s right. Yugyeom, what is this…Ten like?”

The tips of Yugyeom’s ears turned red. “Ten hyung? He’s great. He’s loud and friendly. He likes cats, and he doesn’t like fruit.”

“He doesn’t like what now?”

“Fruit. I don’t know why, but it’s cute,” Yugyeom grinned to himself and BamBam gagged, causing the youngest to reach across Jinyoung and smack his best friend. “But enough about Ten hyung, what did Jaebeom hyung say to Youngjae hyung?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really look.” Yugyeom leaned over and grabbed the phone.

“Well, let’s check.”

Jinyoung grabbed the phone after a moment of hesitation and unlocked it. (The password was Jaebeom’s birthday but no one needs to know that.) The text, glaringly bright, just said a simple ‘Hey, how r u’ and there’s a moment of silence before Yugyeom burst out laughing.

“Jaebeom hyung thinks he’s slick but he’s just as bad at texting as you,” Yugyeom teases.

“Nah, at least Jaebeom hyung uses slang. Jinyoung hyung sounds like he’s texting a business partner.” Jinyoung smacked both of them, eliciting a few more laughs when Yugyeom gasped.

“Hyung, he’s texting you back-” Jinyoung’s head snaps to the phone where lo, and behold, Youngjae had just responded with a ‘hey, im good, how r u?’

At the prodding of the two youngest, Jinyoung replied, and he and Youngjae ended up starting a conversation. Yugyeom and BamBam exchanged looks before quietly leaving Jinyoung with his new beau.

‘What are u up to?’

‘Not much, I’m just lying down. How about you?’

‘LOL ur so formal. And you asked that already. But Im doing the same haha’

‘Sounds fun. I’m sure we are very exciting.’

‘How’s life?’

‘Boring. How’s yours?’

God, Jinyonug could feel the awkwardness oozing from his texts, and he resisted the urge to smack himself. Before he could, his phone rang, Youngjae was calling him. Jinyoung almost dropped the phone, but answered it quickly, pressing the phone to his ear.

“I think it’d be less awkward if we talked on the phone, yeah?” Youngjae’s bright voice sounded, not dulling even through the phone.

“Yeah, that might be best,” Jinyoung laughed. “How was work? It wasn’t too busy, I hope.”

“No, not at all.” A moment of silence when- “Hey, are you busy today?”

Jinyoung’s heart picked up. “No, not at all. Are you?’

“No.”

More silence, when Youngjae burst out laughing, and by default, so did Jinyoung. Who could resist laughing after Youngjae does, after all? “God, we’re embarrassing,” Jinyoung choked out through giggles.

“No, I think it’s all you. You just enable my awkward ability,” Youngjae teased. “But seriously, do you want to hang out today? I’m done tutoring.”

Tutoring reminded Jinyoung. “Yeah, that sounds good! Speaking of tutoring, I’ve heard you tutor my younger brother, Kim Yugyeom?”

“Wait, seriously? Kim Yugyeom is your brother?” Youngjae sounded flabbergasted and Jinyoung laughed once more.

“Yeah. I took our father’s last name and Yugyeom took our mother’s.”

“That’s neat. Yugyeom is such a cute kid, and he learns well.”

“Yeah, but he’s a brat.” The two of them snicker, and Jinyoung can hear Yugyeom sneeze twice.

“But seriously, do you want to meet up?” Jinyoung nodded, but then realised he’s stupid.

“Ah, yeah. Sure! When and where?”

“Does lunch at Ars Coffee work? I have a worker’s discount...and I own the place so the discount is not needed.” Jinyoung snorted.

“Wow, successful and handsome. I sure hit the jackpot. That sounds good.”

“Oh, haha, very funny. I’ll see you at noon.” Youngjae hung up, and Jinyoung stared at his phone for a few minutes, a stupid grin on his face.

God, he’s excited. He’s probably a little too excited. God, he can’t wait to tell Jaebeom. Jinyoung is brought back down from his emotional high as fast as Yugyeom buying an ice choco. Should he text Jaebeom or let the older cool down? Why did he have to run his mouth? Jaebeom was just trying to help and Jinyoung ruined it.

Unfortunately, today is still not a good day to wallow, Jinyoung has to get ready for his date. Date? Is it a date? Dear LORD Jinyoung’s going on a date. Jaebeom be damned (and thanked), he was a bit overeager and ran straight into the doorframe. “Hyung?” Yugyeom poked his head around the hallway corner. “Everything all right?”

Jinyoung beams. “I have a date.” Yugyeom snickers at Jinyoung’s face.

“God, hyung, you look stupid. But congratulations.” Jinyoung suddenly wiped the smile off his face, straightening up and sending the fear of God into Yugyeom’s heart.

“Kim Yugyeom, I may be going on a date with undeniably the cutest man to exist. But I am still your older brother and will not hesitate to kill you.”

Yugyeom cackled and ran into his room with BamBam, locking the door, and Jinyoung rolled his eyes. When his beloved “Ten hyung” comes around, he’ll have to answer to Jinyoung if he ever hurts Yugyeom.

But look at the time; Jinyoung needed to eat and change if he wanted to be at Ars Coffee at noon. Cereal is the fastest option, but BamBam finished the last of that (damn his sweet tooth), so Jinyoung just got a piece of bread and toasted it. He’s excited about his first date, he’s allowed to rush. By the time he had to leave, he had already tried on five different outfits, deciding on a simple black turtleneck and jeans. “I’m heading out, you two. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Get that dick, hyung!” Jinyoung heard Yugyeom and BamBam chorus from in their room, making a mental note to kill them later. But for now, he had a date he needed to go on.

Due to his excitement, he ended up arriving thirty minutes early, and Jinyoung just ordered and waited. Youngjae came barrelling in twenty minutes later, all smiley and Jinyoung could feel his heart melt. “Jinyoung! Hi!” Youngjae slid in across from him. “I heard you arrived really early; the co-owner and my friend told me.”

Jinyoung laughed, trying to cover up his embarrassment. “Damn, if I ever need to commit some shady business, remind me not to do it here. Your co-workers will just snitch on me.” Youngjae guffawed, the sound echoing in the shop.

“Don’t worry, I’ll vouch for you.” Jinyoung laughs as well.

“Thanks, I’m glad I now have a confidant for all my misadventures,” Jinyoung says, poking Youngjae’s arm.

“How many misadventures have you been getting into?” Youngjae raises a brow. “Last time we met, you were three-timing your boyfriends.” Jinyoung snorts.

“Oh, you have no idea. I rob banks and kill my best friends all the time.” Youngjae laughs once more, and Jinyoung could hear it all day, every day.

"You sound like someone my mother would warn me against," Youngjae teases. "I should stay away from you if I want to keep my reputation up."

Jinyoung chuckles. "Well, what's the fun in that?" He leans across the table slightly. "I say damn your reputation, let's go murder someone."

"I don't think that would fly over very well with my friend Mark, but alright. Tomorrow at seven? Who should we start with?"

Jinyoung snorts, all the possibilities going through his head. "Jaebeom," he says without thinking, and almost takes it back. But Youngjae doesn't know the argument; so he'll live with it.

"Who's that?" Youngjae cocks his head and Jinyoung resists the urge to coo.

“He’s my best friend.” Thankfully Jinyoung’s voice didn’t waver. “Everyone has the moment where you want to kill your best friend, surely.”

“No, I am an angel, couldn’t you tell?” Youngjae teased, and Jinyoung refrained from saying ‘yes.’ He liked Youngjae already; they have a lot in common and Jinyoung forgot all about the ordeal with Jaebeom as he spends time with the younger.

However, his glee was soon cut short when he arrived home and he saw Jaebeom’s shoes kicked off to the side. “Yugyeom-ah, is Jaebeom hyung here?” he asked the younger on the couch. Yugyeom looked up, shock registered on his face.

“Hyung, you weren’t supposed to be home ’til later,” Yugyeom stammered, and Jinyoung furrowed his eyebrows, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Kim Yugyeom, what is going on?” Jinyoung dropped his book bag onto the floor. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, you know this-“

“Jinyoung, it’s not Yugyeom’s fault.” Jinyoung’s head whipped around, Jaebeom having spoken from around the corner of the kitchen.

“Hyung, what are you doing here?” Jinyoung left Yugyeom on the couch and entered the kitchen, seeing Jaebeom cooking…something. “Well, never mind that, hyung. I guess since you’re here, I should apologise for earlier this morning. What I said was out of line and-“

Jaebeom waved him off. “No, just forget it, Jinyoung. We were both at fault. Let’s just put it behind us, hm? We can’t not be best friends over such a petty fight, right?”

“Yeah, best friends,” Jinyoung chuckled almost lifelessly. Time to shove yet another problem under the carpet. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“What, can’t I visit my best friend?” After a moment of silence, Jaebeom sighed, giving in. “I need to learn how to cook Italian dishes. I invited this girl over for dinner next week, and I want to impress her.”

“Can’t you order Italian takeout?” Jaebeom snorted.

“Takeout can’t cut it.”

“Have you forgotten the Great Noodle Incident, hyung? I don’t think I want you cooking weird recipes in my kitchen.” Jaebeom looked up from the pot to glare at Jinyoung.

“Wasn’t that your idea, Nyoung?”

“Well, I think it’s time for me to go. I’m a little tired, you know?” Jinyoung tried to make his escape, but Jaebeom is nothing if not petty.

“No, no, Jinyoung, please refresh my memory. How did the Great Noodle Incident start?” Jinyoung opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, before he was saved by the doorbell.

When he enters the living room to answer it, it appears Yugyeom had already opened the door to whoever it is standing outside. “Youngjae ah? What are you doing here?” Jinyoung blinked once, twice, thrice.

“Ah, you just forgot your phone at Ars.” Youngjae held up the device. “I texted Yugyeom for your address; I didn’t know he lives here too.”

“Oh, thanks.” Jinyoung smiled, walking over and taking his phone. “I appreciate it, Youngjae. Would you like to come in for a little? Jaebeom is here and you could meet him.”

Youngjae steps forward a bit. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude, but I would love to meet our murder victim once.” Jinyougn laughed out loud, covering his mouth again.

“That’s right. He’s in the kitchen, cooking who knows what. Maybe you could help him out; you work in the coffee shop so you’re bound to be a better cook.” Youngjae laughed.

“I only know how to make pastries, really, but I could try. What is he attempting?” Jinyoung shrugged.

“Some weird Italian recipe, and I don’t want the apartment burnt down.” Jinyoung led Youngjae to the kitchen, gesturing towards Jaebeom. “Youngjae, Jaebeom. Jaebeom, Youngjae.”

Jaebeom turned around, beaming and bowing. “It’s nice to meet you, Youngjae. I’m glad Jinyoung finally got out of his shell and met someone. Lord knows how long I’ve been trying to get him to go on a date.”

Yeah, cus I want to date you. “Well, how does it feel to have Jinyoung ssi finally go on a date then?” Youngjae saved Jinyoung from his thoughts, and Jinyoung poked Youngjae in the side for the comment.

Jaebeom snorted, slapping Jinyoung on the back. “God, I’m so relieved. I definitely would have thought this kid would become an old miserly man who yells at kids.”

“You are only seven months older than me, hyung. Don’t call me kid,” Jinyoung snapped playfully.

Jaebeom gasped. “Now, where has this attitude come from? Don’t talk back to your elders…kid.” It’s Jinyoung’s turn to chuckle.

“God, you’re so annoying.” Jinyoung turned to Youngjae. “See why I chose him as my first murder victim?”

“I don’t know…I think I like him,” Youngjae teased, and Jinyoung pouted.

“I’m so hurt. I’ve been betrayed,” he cried out, “Yugyeom, you’re the only one I love.”

“Ew, hyung, go away,” called Yugyeom from the other room, and the apartment was filled with laughter. God, Jinyoung was beyond happy Youngjae and Jaebeom are getting along. The two seemed to enjoy each other’s company, Youngjae coming around the counter to read the recipe Jaebeom had left out.

Jinyoung left the kitchen for a little, coming to sit by Yugyeom, who was watching a drama on his phone. “Yugyeom, why weren’t you going to tell me Jaebeom was here?”

Yugyeom didn’t look up from his drama, answering with a, “I thought he would be gone by the time you came back. I didn’t want you two to argue again. You know, hyung is my friend too, but I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Jinyoung sighs. “I know. I’ll try not to argue with him too much.”

“I’m not talking about that, hyung,” Yugyeom said, finally pausing his drama to look at his older brother, only this time Jinyoung avoided Yugyeom’s eyes. “Hyung, come on.”

“Yugyeom, where’s BamBam?” Jinyoung tried to change the subject, but Yugyeom was having none of that.

“He’s getting picked up from work by Jackson. Don’t dodge the situation.” Jinyoung still avoided Yugyeom’s eyes.

“I know. But we have guests, and I don’t want to deal with this just yet.”

“Deal with what?” Youngjae had just come around the corner, having finished with Jaebeom.

“My friend is coming over next week, and Jinyoung hyung doesn’t want to meet him since he thinks I’m going to elope or something,” Yugyeom lied smoothly. Jinyoung resisted the urge to kick him for that comment in thankfulness.

“Ooh, your boyfriend?” Yugyeom choked at Youngjae’s comment.

“No! Ten hyung is just a friend.”

“For now-” Jinyougn snorted, and Yugyeom whined.

“Hyung, seriously. You’re so annoying.” Jinyoung laughed at that, ruffling the younger’s hair.

“I’m just kidding, Yugyeom,” he laughed, and turned to Youngjae. “Are you leaving already?” Youngjae nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, I have to get back to Ars; Mark co-owns the place with me and his shift is almost over.” Youngjae paused briefly, eyes flicking down to Jinyoung’s lips. Jinyoung catches the sly movement and smiles.

“Here, I’ll walk you down to your car.” Youngjae agreed readily, and the two exited the apartment to the sound of Yugyeom gagging really loudly. Jinyoung swore he’s going to kill Yugyeom one of these days. But not right now.

Right now, Jinyoung was focusing on how he and Youngjae are alone in the elevator, and how the younger keeps glancing at his lips. “Hyung-” Youngjae started to speak, and Jinyoung snapped his head to look at him. “Er- I like Jaebeom and Yugyeom. They’re very nice.”

Jinyoung beamed. “I’m glad I know them. As much as they annoy me, they are good friends.”

The silence became deafening again, and lasted until Youngjae and Jinyoung were standing in front of the younger’s car. “Hyung, thanks for letting me hang out for a little,” Youngjae said, and before Jinyoung could react, leant forward and pressed a kiss to the older’s lips before getting in his car and waving.

Jinyoung barely had the mind to wave back before Youngjae started the car and left. He remained in his daze all the way back up to his apartment, where Yugyeom finally had the sense to leave Jinyoung alone and let his brother go into his room without a hitch. Jaebeom, however, isn’t as kind, leaving Yugyeom with instructions on when to take whatever food he’s made out of the oven.

“So, Jinyoungie-ya! How did your date go?” Jaebeom rested against the bedroom door frame, grinning wide like the Cheshire Cat. God, Jinyoung would kiss the smirk off Jaebeom’s face if he could. Unfortunately, for one, he’s on his bed and wrapped up in blankets. And second, Jaebeom might punch him.

Jinyoung frowned with no spite. “It was good, hyung. I really like Youngjae. I’m glad I met him.” Jaebeom nodded once, twice.

“That’s…good. I’m glad, Jinyoungie. You deserve someone in your life.” Jaebeom smiled, but Jinyoung can feel something off about it. He pushes the feeling to the side; Jaebeom was probably still a little upset about the argument earlier.

“Hyung, come here,” Jinyougn smiled lightly, lifting up the blankets, and Jaebeom laughed, walking forward and cuddling up with Jinyoung.

“I forgot you’re so clingy sometimes,” Jaebeom teased, and Jinyoung snoted, kicking Jaebeom lightly in the shin.

“Don’t be mean, hyung,” Jinyonug whined and Jaebeom laughed again, wrapping his arm around Jinyoung’s waist. The younger could feel his heartstrings tugging, but he ignored the feeling, as he’s done all those years. “Hyung?”

“Yes, Nyongie?” Jaebeom was sleepy, and Jinyonug couldn’t blame him. He spent all this time cooking, and paired with the argument this morning, Jinyoung could understand why he’s tired.

“I love you,” Jinyoung whispered, and Jaebeom just groaned, pressing his cheek into Jinyoung.

“Love you too, Nyoung,” he mumbled out a reply before cuddling even closer, and Jinyoung almost cried. Thankfully, he didn’t (how embarrassing would that be) and instead fell asleep against his friend for the second time that day.

They’re woken up an hour later by Jackson, who had returned with BamBam and three cartons of ice-cream and the promise of a movie night. Well, Jinyoung wasn’t going to protest, especially since he didn’t have to pay for either dinner or the ice-cream.

Unfortunately, Jackson chose the movie, and as expected, it was an Iron Man movie. Jinyoung doesn’t know which one; he’s given up on paying attention. Instead, he’s crowded in between Jackson and Jaebeom, the former’s hand slightly uncomfortably high up on Jinyoung’s thigh. Jaebeom looked at the hand on Jinyoung’s thigh unhappily, wrapping his arm around Jinyoung again.

God, it was almost domestic, and Jinyoung could feel the warmth of his crush rise again. Why did he do this? He liked Youngjae; why did Jaebeom have to do this to him?

Jinyoung was suffocating, he couldn't handle this contact. He stood up abruptly, Jaebeom looking up with his eyebrows furrowed and Jackson frowning slightly. Yugyeom stayed silent, as did BamBam.

“Jinyoung-ah, are you all right?” Jackson speaks first. Jinyoung looked at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

At that, Yugyeom stood up, guiding him away from the group. “Hyung, go get a glass of water and go lie down in your room, all right?” Jinyoung nodded blankly, leaving, and as Jaebeom made to stand up, Yugyeom stopped him. “Jaebeom hyung, I don’t think you should go with him. Just enjoy the movie with Jackson hyung, all right?”

Jaebeom glared, but Yugyeom stood firm, and Jaebeom didn’t want to go against the wishes of Jinyoung’s younger brother and so he relented.

Yugyeom found Jinyoung in his room, as he was told, sitting against the bed on the floor and clutching the water in both hands. Yugyeom sighed at his brother’s obviously distressed state. “Hyung, drink the water. Holding it isn’t going to help,” he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Jinyoung lifted the cup to his lips, taking small sips and Yugyeom sat next to him. “Yugyeom, why did this have to happen to me?” Jinyoung asked solemnly, and the brothers sighed in unison.

“Hyung, I think maybe you should take time off from seeing Jaebeom hyung. It’s doing nothing but hurting you.” Jinyoung finished his cup of water, and Yugyeom took it, putting it on the desk.

“Yugyeomie, I can’t.” Jinyoung’s plea almost broke Yugyeom’s heart. “He’s first and foremost my best friend.” Yugyeom tentatively wrapped his arms around Jinyoung, pulling his older brother into a tight hug, and Jinyoung choked out a sob.

“Hyung, I’ll handle it with Jaebeom, all right? I’m sure he just wants you to be happy.” Jinyoung didn’t respond, crying silently into Yugyeom’s chest.

Sooner or later, Jinyougn was too exhausted, and fell asleep in Yugyeom’s arms, the third time today. Yugyeom didn’t move, too worried to wake up the older, and Jaebeom quietly opened the door and poked his head in.

“Is he doing all right?” Jaebeom walked in further, leaning down and brushing a piece of hair out of Jinyoung’s mouth.

Yugyeom sighed, looking up at Jaebeom. “Hyung, I don’t think he can see you and Jackson any more.” Jaebeom’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean?”

“Hyung, it’s not like that,” Yugyeom added hastily. “I just think that he’s been overstressed with work and making sure you and Jackson don’t notice. I’m forcing him to take a few days off. BamBam has to stay since he doesn’t have a place to stay, but I want Jinyoung to indulge in what he wants. Haven’t you noticed he started rejecting you subconsciously?”

Jaebeom’s frown deepened, but he made no comment. Of course he’s noticed the way Jinyoung flinches when Jaebeom initiates physical contact, the way he avoids Jaebeom’s eyes. “I just don’t want Jinyoung by himself.”

“He won’t be alone, hyung. I promise. I’ll keep an eye on him, and so will BamBam.” Yugyeom reassured, and Jaebeom backed off. Yugyeom knows what he’s doing, Jaebeom reminds himself.

“All right. Jackson and I will be going then. Make sure Jinyoung feels better soon, all right? Can’t have my best friend die on me.” Yugyeom nodded and Jaebeom finally left.

Yugyeom stayed in Jinyoung’s room for the rest of the night, lifting Jinyoung into his bed and curling up next to him. At some point, BamBam had joined the cuddle party, and when Jinyoung awakened, he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t for a long while, but the cuddle party overheated him, so he wriggled his way out of Yugyeom’s arms carefully.

As he made his way into the kitchen, his phone buzzed, and looking at it, Jinyoung noticed Youngjae had texted him, asking him if he wanted to come over today. ‘Mark is at a friend’s for the whole day so we could hang out and watch movies or something’ the text read, and Jinyoung’s heart leapt into his throat.

He responded quickly, agreeing readily, and asked for a time. Youngjae responded just as fast, offering five in the evening, and Jinyoung accepted. He poked his head into his room to see Yugyeom and BamBam still asleep, curled around each other.

He didn’t want to wake them up; it must have been the jet lag getting to them, so Jinyoung let them sleep in. They looked so peaceful anyway; Jinyoung would’ve felt bad if he woke them. But when he tried to exit the room, the buzz of his phone alerting him to a new text alerted BamBam as well. “Hyung?” the Thai man groggily opened his eyes. “Good morning.”

Jinyoung threw him a smile. “Morning, Bam,” he responded, keeping his voice low. “Did you have a good night?”

BamBam sat up, Yugyeom’s head on his chest falling to his lap. “Yeah. Hyung, are you doing all right?” Jinyoung shrugged.

“As good as I can do now. Don’t wake up Yugyeom, all right?” BamBam nodded, looking down at the youngest in his lap. “I’ll be going out later on this evening to see Youngjae.”

BamBam wriggled his eyebrows, and Jinyoung restrained himself from hitting his brother’s friend. “Get that ass, Jinyoung.”

“If anything, Youngjae will get this ass,” Jinyoung stated smoothly, and before BamBam could recover from his shock, exited the room smoothly.

As he glanced down at his phone, three missed calls from an unknown number were there, and Jinyougn frowned, swiping the notifications away. It was probably a telemarketer; Jinyoung had been getting a lot of those calls recently. No big deal, Jinyoung just blocked the number without a hitch.

Breakfast is more important than weird phone calls, anyway. He can’t cook to save his life, but Jinyoung does know Jaebeom kept leftovers from yesterday in the fridge. He’s still unsure whether he likes the ziti, or whatever Jaebeom made, but it’s food.

He popped a plate of ziti into the microwave, keeping an eye on the timer to stop it before it beeped and woke up Yugyeom. But he didn’t need to; Yugyeom had awoken and was coming around the corner. “Hyung, why didn’t you wake me up?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you up.” This was apparently the wrong thing to say, Yugyeom smirked.

“Aw, is my big bro being soft for his favorite brother?” Jinyoung swiped at Yugyeom, who dodged easily.

“Brat.”

Yugyeom cackled at his older brother’s misery, a regular occurence in this household. Jinyoung did his best to ignore him, instead sending a few cat pictures to Jaebeom. Surprisingly, the older didn’t respond right away, but Jinyoung shrugged it off, pinning it down to Jaebeom probably forgetting to charge his phone again.

BamBam needed yet another ride to work, so Jinyoung offered to take him to get his mind off the upcoming date. Yugyeom wanted to tag along, and Jinyoung knew if that happened, they’d be making two different stops to get food. But Yugyeom shot him with the puppy eyes, and Jinyoung could feel himself give in. Damn him and his soft heart. Thank god Jackson would pick them up instead of him.

And, as expected, Jinyoung waited outside a convenience store as Yugyeom and BamBam bought ramen. As he waited, someone came up to him. The man looked vaguely attractive; his features fit each other perfectly and gave him a gorgeous aura. “Excuse me?” Jinyoung pinched himself discreetly to get him out of his funk.

“How may I help you?” The stranger offered a slight smile, and Jinyoung had to focus really hard on his eyes instead of his lips.

“I’m a little lost; I just arrived and I was wondering if you knew where Seoul National University is.” Jinyoung ‘ah’ed in understanding.

“Yeah, it’s a little far from here. Which airport did you come from?” The person ran a hand through his hair sheepishly.

“Gimpo Airport.”

Jinyoung snorted. “Apologies,” he said quickly, covering his mouth with his hand, “you went in the opposite direction.”

The stranger’s mouth opened, but he had nothing to say except a crass phrase, and Jinyoung snorted again. “Sorry- God, I’m an idiot.”

“No, it’s not a big deal. You can take the bus to University; there’s a bus that stops a few miles away. Or, you could take a taxi.” Jinyoung offered, and the man nodded.

“Yeah, thank you. Where’s the bus stop?” Jinyoung pointed out the way and the bus he had to take. “Thank you again, I appreciate it.” The man flashed a smile and Jinyoung could feel his knees shaking, but stood firm.

“No problem. Good luck.” As soon as the man turned the corner, Yugyeom ran up with the instant noodles in his hands.

“Hyung! We got the noodles.”

“Yah, what took you so long, brat?” Jinyoung pinched Yugyeom’s ear. “It’s cold.”

Yugyeom whined, and BamBam laughed at his friend’s misfortune before Jinyoung grabbed his ear too. “Hyung-“ the two youngest groaned, and Jinyoung huffed.

“Eat your noodles, or else you’ll be late, BamBam.” Jinyoung rolled his eyes, and BamBam cackled.

Yugyeom had kindly gotten him a packet of juice from the store, and as BamBam and Yugyeom made fun of each other, Jinyoung sipped on the juice like a mom watching their kids play in the pool. They arrived at BamBam’s work, a dance studio, and as BamBam stepped out, so did Yugyeom. Jinyoung threw him a questioning look, and Yugyeom smiled.

“I’m going to apply to work here,” Yugyeom explained, and Jinyoung nodded in understanding. “Don’t be too loud, Hyung. Youngjae’s neighbors might call the police.”

Jinyoung’s face hardened, and Yugyeom and BamBam ran into the building cackling like the little devils they are. “Yah, Kim Yugyeom,” he muttered under his breath, well aware the taller man couldn't hear him.

But now was not the time to sulk around at his younger brother’s (loving) disrespect, he needed to get home and change for his date. On the way home, he passed by the bus stop he directed the stranger from earlier to, and saw the man sitting on the bench. Jinyoung laughed quietly, the situation was kind of funny once you thought about it.

Jinyoung remembered when he and Yugyeom had first moved to Seoul from Jinhae-gu. The younger had gotten lost so many times, and Jinyoung had gotten lost even more times trying to find Yugyeom. He hoped the stranger would be able to find his way around. Though, with that pretty face, Jinyoung didn’t think he would have any trouble getting help.

The stranger reminded Jinyoung a little of Jaebeom. When the older had first gone to Jinhae-gu to meet Jinyoung’s family, Jaebeom was lost at almost all times of the day. It was adorable, and honestly, Jinyonug felt a sense of satisfaction from feeling helpful to Jaebeom. Hopefully, I can be the same for Youngjae, Jinyoung thought as he pulled into the parking area of his apartment building.

He had about ten minutes to change before he had to leave again, and Jinyoung was too lazy to dress a little nicer, so he just threw on some jeans and an orange sweater that BamBam had tried (keyword: tried) to convince Jinyoug to get rid of. It was a comfy sweater, though, and Jinyoung liked it. Fuck BamBam.

Jinyoung remained proud of his sweater all the way up to when he texted Youngjae, letting him know he’s there. But as soon as Youngjae opened the door and looked at his shirt, Jinyoung could feel his ears turn red. “Hey,” Youngjae laughed. “I like your sweater.”

Jinyoung scrunched his nose, ears turning slightly red. “Thanks. I like it too.”

“No, seriously,” Youngjae patted Jinyoung on the back. “It’s not something that would look good on anyone, but you pull it off.”

“The more you talk about it the more self-conscious I get, you know?” Youngjae didn't respond, just laughed, and led Jinyoung up three flights of stairs. Youngjae’s apartment was comfortable, small enough for two people, with a lot of plants everywhere. The couch was a beige, matching the white rug, which Jinyoung wondered how it was so clean.

If he had a rug like that, Yugyeom would have spilt chocolate on it six times, BamBam would have dropped lipstick just as much, and Jaebeom’s cats would have ripped it to shreds whenever the older brought them over. “Do you like it?” Jinyoung looked up at Youngjae, and nodded.

“It’s very neat. Where did you get your barstools?” Youngjae snorted.

“Yardsale. Mark just repainted them.” Jinyoung chuckled, but Youngjae motioned him toward the couch and made him sit down. “Let me get some water and then we can look for something to watch, sound good?”

Jinyoung nodded again, it seemed like the only thing he could do right now. Youngjae walked behind the counter, and Jinyoung dug his feet into the rug, appreciating the softness of it. “How is this rug so clean?” he wondered aloud, and Youngjae sighed.

“It wasn’t. But I banned Mark from being on the rug with snacks after I got it professionally cleaned.” Jinyoung laughed.

“Is he that messy?”

“Not on purpose, no, but he likes to eat chips a lot, and the crumbs get all over the rug. I wouldn’t have minded if he ate gummies,” Youngjae gripes, returning with two glasses of water. “I brought you a glass too just in case.”

Jinyoung thanked Youngjae, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip, not noticing how Youngjae’s eyes moved to his eyes. “What movie do you want to watch?” Jinyoung asked, and Youngjae smirked, eyes moving back up to Jinyoung’s eyes.

“Aren’t I supposed to ask that?” Jinyoung hummed.

“Well, I like most movies. Romance, comedy, and horror are some of my favorite genres. Do with that as you will.” Jinyoung winked at Youngjae, and Youngjae laughed breathily.

“I like romance and comedy as well, but I don't sit well with horror.” Youngjae turned on the TV, scrolling through Netflix’s menus, before the two of them finally settled on some obscure comedy neither had ever heard of.

To be frank, Jinyoung was the only one paying attention to the movie. Youngjae couldn’t keep his eyes off Jinyoung’s profile, especially when the older one laughed loudly. Sooner or later, Youngjae found himself leaning in and Jinyoung turned his head and smiled flusteredly. “Hyung,” Youngjae starts breathily, “may I kiss you?”

Jinyoung whined out a yes, and Youngjae pressed his lips against Jinyoung’s tentatively, both men closing their eyes. Youngjae’s lips were chapped while Jinyoung’s were soft, and the difference was felt almost immediately. Youngjae attempted to lick his lips while still kissing Jinyoung, and as expected, Jinyoung parted his lips slightly. Youngjae jolted slightly, surprised, but got back into the groove of things.

He pressed further, Jinyoung’s back pushed into the arm of the couch. It wasn’t quite that comfortable, but Jinyoung ignored the feeling, instead opening his mouth a little wider. Youngjae took this opportunity and ran his tongue along the seam of Jinyoung’s teeth.

The whimper that came out of Jinyoung’s mouth surprised both of them, and Jinyoung quickly tried to explain himself. He started with a, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”, but was quickly cut off by Youngjae leaning forward and kissing him again.

The two kissed for what seemed like hours, but it was only about five minutes before Jinyoung broke away and whined out, “Can I suck you off, please?” The plea goes straight to Youngjae’s dick who nodded quickly and shifted backwards on his butt to let Jinyoung lean forward.

Jinyoung reached for Youngjae’s sweatpants, pulling it down as quickly as he could. However, before he removed Youngjae’s boxers, Jinyoung slid off the couch onto his knees and adjusted Youngjae to sit with his legs on either side of Jinyoung’s body. He then leans in.

“Fuck.” The obscenity spouted out of Youngjae’s mouth as soon as Jinyoung pressed his lips against Youngjae’s covered crotch. “Fuck, hyung.”

Jinyoung laughed breathily, the feeling making Youngjae moan, and Jinyoung pulled down his boxers at last, freeing Youngjae’s cock. “Youngjae-yah,” is all Jinyoung whined before leaning forward and licking a stripe up the younger one’s cock.

Before Youngjae could react, Jinyoung sucked the dick into his mouth and dipped his tongue into the slit. “Hyung-” Jinyoung looked up through his eyelashes at Youngjae and Youngjae almost creamed his pants. “Hyung, if you keep going I might cum right now,” Youngjae breathed.

Jinyoung popped off Youngjae’s cock with an obscene sound, and smirked, his full lips bitten to shame. “Good.” Youngjae swore he saw heaven and hell at the same time when Jinyoung sucks his cock down until his lips wrap around the base.

Youngjae’s hips twitched, and Jinyoung moaned, moaned, and swallowed around Youngjae’s dick. “Fuck, Jae-yah. Fuck my mouth,” Jinyoung rasped, popping off Youngjae’s cock and licking up the beading pre-cum. As soon as Jinyoung slid Youngjae’s cock back into his mouth, Youngjae gave him a questioning look, and Jinyoung nodded to reassure the younger.

Youngjae gave a few testing thrusts, and when all Jinyoung did was relax and open his jaw even wider, his thrusts built up until Jinyoung was drooling all down his chin and crying. It was when Jinyoung brushed his tongue alongside the bottom of Youngjae’s cock when the imaginary band around Youngjae’s cock snapped.

Youngjae cummed. His ears burned; he hadn’t meant to cum like a teenage boy watching porn for the first time, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

“God, Jinyoung,” Youngjae wheezed. “How on Earth are you so good at this?” Jinyoung chuckles, the sound throaty and rough.

“Practice from college...and my three girlfriends,” he joked as an afterthought.

“Do you need any help?” Youngjae offered, but Jinyoung glanced at the TV and then the clock. The movie was over, and Jinyoung would have to pick something up for dinner.

“No, maybe next time,” Jinyoug sighed, throwing Youngjae a wink and a smile. “I have to feed the kiddos.”

Youngjae laughed, bright and loud as always. “Can’t let them starve. Drive safe back.” He leaned forward, planting a much more sweet and much less sensual kiss on Jinyoung’s lips. Something that Jaebeom would do. Jinyoung’s ears burned; he just sucked off Youngjae, why is he thinking about Jaebeom. “Jinyoung?”

Youngjae’s voice brought Jinyoung back to his senses, and he smiled.

“Will do.”

On the way home, Jinyoung couldn’t stop thinking about why Jaebeom suddenly popped into his head. Fuck it.

Jinyoung steered to the side of the road, parking in front of a convenience store, and called Youngjae. “Jinyoung?”

“Hey, Youngjae,” Jinyoung said, voice thick. “Um, I don’t think this will work out. I’m really sorry, I did like you in that way. But I also have feelings for someone else and I don’t want to lead you on. It’s nothing against you, I just-”

Youngjae cut him off. “No, it’s okay, Jinyoung. It’s Jaebeom, isn’t it?” Jinyoung paused.

“How’d you know?”

“I saw how you looked at him, and how he looked at you.” Jinyoung snorted.

“Oh, he’s not gay. But I just don’t think I could date you if I had major feelings for him as well,” Jinyoung laughed shortly.

He could hear Youngjae sigh in the background. “Well, whatever you say. But hey, if you ever want to, my door is open. After all, I am a lonely old man,” Youngjae ended with a joke, and Jinyoung scoffed.

“If you’re old, what am I?”

“An ancient and wise sage. Bye, hyung,” Youngjae snarked before hanging up, and Jinyoung stuck his middle finger up at the phone screen even though he knew it would do nothing. Glancing to the side, Jinyoung decided to pop into the store before heading to Jaebeom’s apartment.

He picked up a few bottles of soju and some packets of snacks before paying and leaving. Before he started driving, though, he texted Yugyeom to let him know he would be late in getting home. For some reason, Jinyoung didn’t tell the younger he was going to Jaebeom’s place, chalking it up to the fact Yugyeom would probably berate him.

He arrived at Jaebeom’s floor, letting himself in with the key given to him when the apartment was leased, and saw something he hadn’t meant to.

Jinyoung was going to confess.

Really.

He was.

But Jaebeom was shirtless, and there was a naked man. Yes, man. Standing next to him. And when Jinyoung says naked, he means naked. The man had nothing but a pair of lace underwear on, and one of Jaebeom’s tank tops. Something he did not want to see. And definitely not next to Jaebeom.

Jinyoung dropped the bag of food and just as Jaebeom opened his mouth in disbelief, booked it out of the apartment. Jinyoung forwent the elevator, just thundering down the stairs and into his car before driving just past the speed limit to reach his home.

When he burst into his door, Yugyeom looked up, shocked at his brother’s face. Before Yugyeom could even say anything, Jinyoung choked out a, “Don’t,” before practically running into his room and slamming the door.

A reasonable reaction.

What wasn’t a reasonable reaction, however, was the fact that Jinyoung stayed holed up in his room for a week. Yugyeom tried picking the lock, but Jinyoung had moved his desk in front of the door. He only took the food left in front of the door once it was cold, and answered no calls.

Worried was an understatement when it came to how his friends and family were feeling. His mother called multiple times at the prodding of Yugyeom, and hell, even Youngjae came over to try to coax him out of his room.

Jinyoung wouldn’t budge, however. He refused to even open the door. It just hurt. Jinyoung didn’t know the exact reason.

Was it the fact Jaebeom never told him he was gay? Jinyoung knew it could have been a one time thing or the older had just found out, but it still hurt. Maybe it was because Jinyoung had finally picked up the courage to tell Jaebeom how he felt, but then...that situation happened.

Jinyoung doesn’t even want to think about it, but he couldn’t. He tried opening his laptop to work, but his mind inevitably wandered to Jaebeom and the stranger’s look of surprise. He tried reading his English dictionary, but he saw the notes Jaebeom doodles in them in secondary school, and his heart wrenched.

He knew he was wallowing, he knew it was insanely and exceedingly unhealthy. But staying in his room and crying just seemed so much safer than going out into the world.

But Yugyeom was not having any of that. He was not ready to watch his older brother decay, and so, forced the door open and pushed the desk forward just enough to get through and into Jinyoung’s room, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Hyung, talk to me,” Yugyeom pleaded when he sat on the bed next to Jinyoung’s bundled up body.

Hearing his baby brother on the verge of tears and begging, Jinyoung finally released the dam, head buried in the younger one’s lap. He sobbed for hours, Yugyeom just petting his hair. He didn’t know how long he cried, but he did know at some point, he had fallen back asleep. Crying takes a lot of energy, you know.

When he wakes up, Yugyeom is still there, still holding him. “Hyung, do you want to talk about it,” Yugyeom tried to coax Jinyoung to speak, and Jinyoung sighed. He really couldn’t wallow all week about this; this was just sad.

Jinyoung swallowed once, twice, then started to explain. The entire time, Yugyeom kept a neutral face, but Jinyoung could see the pity in his eyes. “So...in conclusion, I’m an idiot,” Jinyoung laughed, voice rasped and tired.

Yugyeom clucked his tongue, sighing. “No, hyung, you’re not. You were just shocked and hurt. We can’t help how we feel.” Jinyoung shrugged.

“I know, Gyeom-ah. I just don’t want it to hurt that much.” Yugyeom nodded and Jinyoung returned his head to his younger brother’s lap.

“Hyung, I’m going to take you out.” Jinyoung’s eyes snapped to Yugyeom’s face, and Yugyeom blanched. “Not like that, dumbass! I’ll take you around town tomorrow; we’ll just forget the past few days, all right? Ten hyung will be in the dance studio as well, and you can meet him.”

Jinyoung just grunted, worn out, and Yugyeom petted him back to sleep, slipping out of the room and into the kitchen where Jaebeom was waiting worriedly. “Is he doing all right?” was the first question out of Jaebeom’s mouth, and Yugyeom shrugged.

“He’s as good as he’ll be, hyung. He’s unhappy, maybe disappointed, but I don’t know when he will be out of his funk,” Yugyeom explained. “I’m taking him to meet Ten hyung tomorrow, hopefully that can get his mind off the fact you never told him you were bi. He must have felt so hurt seeing you.” Yugyeom wisely left out the part where Jinyoung also had a crush on him.

From the tone of his voice, Jaebeom could tell Yugyeom was mad at him. “Look, I didn’t...I didn’t think it was important.” Jaebeom wrung his hands. “Not that I didn’t want to tell him. I just-”

“Don’t give me excuses,” Yugyeom snapped. “You hurt my brother. Unintentional, or not, you withheld it for your own personal reasons. I can’t stay angry for long, but I advise you to get out of the apartment for now.” Jaebeom took a step back, pausing, but left soon after.

Yugyeom slumped over the counter, tired out. He hadn’t meant to snap at Jaebeom; who was he to be angry about Jaebeom hiding when he had done the same thing to Jinyoung? Well, the difference was that Jinyoung hyung doesn’t have a crush on me, he thought.

He really hoped meeting Ten hyung would bring Jinyoung out of his slump, but he doubts that it would happen. But maybe, just for a short while, it would distract Jinyoung.

So, when Yugyeom drove Jinyoung to the studio and Ten hyung was waiting outside, he really didn’t expect Jinyoung to laugh and say, “Oh, the lost guy! I didn’t know you were Yugyeomie’s ‘Ten hyung.’”

“Hyung, you know him?” Jinyoung nodded.

“Yeah, when I was driving BamBam to work, he asked me for directions.” Yugyeom’s mouth dropped open.

“No way,” he laughed. “Hyung, you literally know everyone.” Jinyoung snorted, pulling Yugyeom’s ear, and the three of them headed into the dance studio.

“Ten hyung, did you know Jinyoungie used to be a dancer as well?” Yugyeom began to say, and Jinyoung groaned, attempting to swat at Yugyeom.

“Kim Yugyeom, I swear-” Yugyeom dodged him, cackling. Ten watched, amused.

“Well. I’m sure you will be able to keep up with me and Yugyeom, then?” Jinyoung shook his head.

“Oh, no no, I’m not going to dance.” Yugyeom smirked, and Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Seriously. You can’t make me.”

Jinyoung flopped on the ground, sweaty and tired. “Love you too, hyung,” Yugyeom teased, poking Jinyoung’s sweaty forehead. Jinyoung grabbed the younger’s hand, pulling him down to wrestle, and Ten laughed.

“Okay, you two kids, no more fooling around,” Ten jokingly reprimanded. “Jinyoung-ssi; I didn’t expect you to catch up to me and Yugyeom this easily.”

Jinyoung snorted, flicking his hair out of his face. “I’m not that old, you know. I’m only, what, two years older than you? It’s only been three years since I graduated, too.”

Ten’s head cocked. “Really? I didn’t know that. Somehow I thought you would be older.” His lips pulled into a sweet smile, and Jinyoung could see Yugyeom mirror the smile. He laughed internally at his brother’s obvious crush. It was wholesome, cute, and not like his own trash bin of a love life. He winced at the memory of Jaebeom’s face when he caught him at his apartment yesterday, and the motion didn’t go unnoticed by Yugyeom.

“Hyung, do you wanna get us something to eat? I want to ask Ten hyung something.” Jinyong nodded quickly, eager to get his thoughts out of the dumpster.

“Yeah, I’ll just pop over to the convenience store a block down, do you guys want anything specific?”

After Ten and Yuyeom threw their dozens of orders at him and Jinyoung forced them to write it down, he slipped out the door and studio, walking down the road in the brisk and cool weather. Unfortunately, Jinyoung had forgotten his jacket. The sun was out, though, so Jinyoung wasn’t too unhappy. It was just a quick walk and the store would probably be warmer than outside.

Inside the store, Jinyoung was in the middle of a purchase, when he heard his name being called. “Jinyoung-ssi!” Ten was waving to him from outside the store. Jinyoung finished up his purchase, taking the plastic bag and meeting Ten outside as the two of them began the way back.

“Hey, Ten. What’s up?”

“I wanted to return your jacket; it’s a bit windy.” A pause, and then Ten opened his mouth, “Jinyoung-ssi, does Yugyeom have a crush on me?”

Jinyoung choked on the juice pack he had opened on the walk. “You should ask him that yourself, Ten-ah.”

Ten ignored him, going on with his thoughts. “I like him, but not in that way. And I don’t want to let him down; he’s a good friend.”

Jinyoung sighed. “Ten, seriously. You need to ask Yugyeom yourself, and tell him yourself. He’s a good kid, and sensible. He won’t take it to heart.”

“I suppose so.” They’re quiet until they reach the building, where Yugyeom was waiting in the lobby.

“We’re not supposed to eat in the dance room, so we gotta eat here, hyungs,” Yugyeom said, taking the bag from Jinyoung and rifling through it for his tteokbokki chips. “Ah, hyung, you forgot my sweet potato snacks.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Yugyeom, you consume an unholy amount of those at the apartment, you can deal with me forgetting them this time.” At Ten’s look, he added, “I’m running to the bathroom. Don’t touch my snacks.”

While in the bathroom, Jinyoung debated listening in the hallway to hear what Ten and Yugyeom had to say, but he decided against it. Yugyeom was old enough to make decisions himself.

As he waited for a reasonable amount of time for Ten and Yugyeom to stop talking, his phone binged with a text from the unknown number from earlier. The text read, ‘This is Mark, Youngjae’s roommate,’ and Jinyoung paused.

He took a screenshot, sending it to Youngjae, but the younger didn’t respond. He’s probably busy at Ars. As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, he stepped into the hallway where Ten was waiting. “Hey, Jinyoung-ssi. So. Would you like good news or bad news first?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ten smiled awkwardly, “Yugyeom felt like he needed space to get over me, so he went home. The good news is he still wants to be friends as well. The bad news is that I take the bus and can’t give you a ride home.”

Jinyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. Of course Yugyeom would do that. “It’s fine, I’ll just call a friend to take me home,” he bit out, not quite angry but not exactly happy either.

He called Jackson almost immediately. “Hey, Park Gae, what’s up?”

“Jackson, I need a ride home. Yugyeom left me at the dance studio.” Jinyoung ripped his phone away from his ear. Jackson had yelled into the phone with excitement.

“Dance? I didn’t know you danced, Jinyoungie-ah! I wanna see you sometime!”

“Yeah, no,” Jinyoung said almost immediately, “but I do need a ride home.”

Jackson laughed. “About that...sorry, no can do. I’m out of town for the weekend. I know you’re not on speaking terms with Jaebeom, but you could try to ask him. I don’t know what’s going on with you two. But I’m sure he’ll be fine with driving you.”

“...Yeah.” Jackson hung up, unaware of Jinyoung’s hesitation. Looks like he’s out of the option. Jinyoung rang up Youngjae next, but he didn’t answer again. Looks like Jinyoung needed to take the bus. As he pocketed his phone, that unknown number from earlier claiming they were Mark called, and Jinyoung, at his wit’s end, answered.

“Is this Park Jinyoung?” The voice on the other end was deep, especially through the phone, and Jinyoung felt like if he wasn’t so obsessed with Jaebeom, he might fall in love with this voice as well.

“Yes, why?” The voice laughed.

“I’m Youngjae’s roommate. Youngjae, say hi to your ex.” Jinyoung choked, and he could hear Youngjae in the background.

“Why are you calling Jinyoung? How’d you get his number?” Jinyoung couldn’t not laugh at the confusion laced in Youngjae’s voice.

“Anyways,” Mark, Jinyoung presumed, continued on, “I texted you because I have something I need to clear up with you. Can we meet up?”

Jinyoung frowned. “What do you need to clear up? I’ve never met you in my life.”

“You’ve met me once. At Jaebeom’s apartment.” Jinyoung’s heart raced.

“I’m not sure I would want to meet up with you, then. For one, you slept with my best friend when I didn’t even know my best friend liked men,” Jinyoung took a deep breath. “And for two, I saw your dick hanging out some lacy underwear. I don’t think I could look at you straight in the eye after that.”

Mark laughed loudly, and if he strained his ears, Jinyoung could hear Youngjae in the back laughing just as loudly. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. That...was not what was supposed to happen. Look, man, I promise I’m not evil. Ars is closed today; I’ll even bring Youngjae along. Is that fine with you?”

Jinyoung sighed. “Sure. I guess so. You’re going to have to pick me up though, Yugyeom left me at Easy Dance Studio.” Mark snorted.

“Is this your super secret plan to use me as a chauffeur?” Jinyoung finally laughed at that, agreeing between breaths. “I knew it. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

They were five minutes late, but Jinyoung didn’t think about it. He was too busy trying to avoid Mark’s eyes as he slid into the backseat and fiddled with his fingers. “Hey, Jinyoung,” Youngjae leaned around the passenger seat, offering Jinyoung a soft smile. “How was your week?”

“Shitty-” Jinyoung said without thinking, and both Mark and Youngjae laughed.

“Sounds like it,” Mark said, and paused for a split second before words came tumbling out of his mouth. To be honest, half of it was in English and Jinyonug only understood the words ‘sorry,’ and ‘Jaebeom,’ and ‘never.’

“Hold up, Mark-ssi. Can you speak in Korean?” Jinyoung asked, furrowing his brows, and Mark laughed, albeit a bit more strained.

“Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t sleeping with Jaebeom. That’s the first thing I should start out with. I had sex with Jackson, and I wasn’t aware Jackson had a roommate. But when I woke up, Jackson had left for out of town, which was kind of dumb. Who leaves a stranger in their apartment?”

Youngjae prodded Mark. “Hyung. Off topic.”

“Sorry, sorry. But Jaebeom was there, and he had lent me a tank top, though none of his pants stayed up. Apparently Jackson had thought Jaebeom would get rid of me if I tried anything. That was when you walked in. And you entered. Though correctly, you had assumed Jaebeom was not straight and hadn’t told you. But we never fucked.”

Jinyoung sat in the backseat in complete silence for the rest of the ride, and both Mark and Youngjae felt they shouldn’t say any more. But when they reached his apartment, before leaving, Jinyoung spoke. “Thank you for telling me, Mark. I’ll have to talk to Jaebeom soon. But I appreciate it, and if I could ever get the image of your penis out of my head, I’d love to be your friend.”

Mark chuckled. “That sounds great. Please do not think about my penis, even if I know it’s great.” Youngjae choked, slapping Mark on the back.

“Hyung! Don’t praise your dick in front of me and Jinyoungie hyung.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes and smiled, getting out of the car and waving at the two friends as they drove off. Once they were out of sight, he stood in front of his apartment building for a few minutes before heading up.

Yugyeom was out, having left a note dictating he was hanging out with BamBam, so Jinyoung took this opportunity to text Jaebeom and asked him to come over. Jaebeom had replied almost instantaneously with confirmation, and Jinyoung waited in anticipation.

Jaebeom didn’t live too far, so he only had to wait fifteen minutes, though they felt like hours. The sound of the door unlocking caused Jinyoung to whip his head toward the kitchen entrance, locking eyes with Jaebeom as he rounded the corner.

“Hi.” Jinyoung broke the ice first, and Jaebeom immediately added a hyung to the end of that, as per habit, before he started crying. “Oh, hyung.” Jinyoung immediately came around the island, wrapping an arm around Jaebeom.

The two stayed like that in silence save the refrigerator humming. When Jaebeom finally got all his tears out, he whispered out an, “I’m so sorry,” and Jinyoung’s heart broke once again.

“Hyung, don’t be sorry.” Jaebeom shook his head, and Jinyoung quieted.

“No, Nyoungie, let me finish.” Jaebeom took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry I never told you I was bisexual. It sounds stupid of me, but I was scared how you would react. I know you are for the LGBT+ community, but when I found out I was, I didn’t know. And then I just kept it a secret for so long; I never felt like it would ever be the right time to tell you. I’m sorry I hurt you and lied to you.”

Jinyoung laughed through his own tears. “Hyung, I haven’t been completely honest with you either.” Jaebeom quieted, and Jinyoung took the opportunity. His heart hurt from pounding so hard against his ribcage, but it was now or never. “I’ve been in love with you for years, since before college.”

Jaebeom says nothing for a minute, and Jinyoung can feel his heart drop. When Jaebeom shifted, Jinyoung kept his eyes trained forward until he felt Jaebeom’s breath on his jawline. The younger turned; confused, when Jaebeom leaned forward, pressing his lips against Jinyoung’s.

“Jaebeom hyung?” When their lips part, Jinyoung asks the only question on his mind.

“We’re both idiots, huh?” Jaebeom snorted, and even with the tears running down his face and the wet noise, Jinyoung had never seen someone more beautiful. “I love you too.”

Jinyoung’s mouth dropped open, and Jaebeom laughed again. “Hyung, please don’t joke around like that,” Jinyoung pleaded, but Jaebeom shook his head.

“No, Jinyoungie. I promise. I’m not. I know it may not have seemed that way, but I promise I do. I do. I love you.” Jinyoung cried again.

He’s never cried so much over the span of ten days, much less a year. But somehow, this seemed worth it.

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